Evermore
by Child of Dreams
Summary: As all fairytales do, this story begins with the simplest of words: "Once upon a time..." But that is where our story, a different type of fairytale, takes a turn. For this is not another tale of fair maidens and foppish princes... No, this is the story of two people drawn together under the most interesting of circumstances, a tale both as old as time and as fresh as a rose...
1. Prologue

**Evermore: A "Thirty Days of Phantom" FanFiction Contest Entry  
Written By: Child of Dreams**

 **Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not currently own the rights to any versions of Phantom of the Opera or Beauty and the Beast.  
But oh, how I wish I did...  
(sighs longingly)**

 **Main Cast & Characters** **  
Cate** **Blanchett** = **The Enchantress  
Gerard Butler = Prince Erik  
Anna O'Byrne = Christine Daaé  
Claude Rains = Gustave Daaé  
Jonathan Rhys Meyers = Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny  
Miranda Richardson = Madame Giry  
Isabelle Allen = Meg Giry  
Simon Callow = André  
Ciarán Hinds = Firmin  
Tamzin Merchant = Fleurette  
Sarah Brightman = La Esmeralda  
Antonio Banderas = Maestro Reyer**

 **A Message From The Authoress: Due to the fact that I have decided not to draw exclusively from the many (but, unfortunately, limited) actors and actresses who have starred in POTO and BATB, certain characters may not be immediately recognizable.  
If anyone has any questions about where I found a particular cast member or what a character is supposed to look like, I would request that you either PM me or leave a review.  
Oh, and no flames, please!  
I am writing this story for my own enjoyment, on my own time.  
The last thing I need is people telling me that my chapters are too short.  
I write as much as I can, and if I can't think of anything else to write in one chapter, I end the chapter where it is and move on to the next one.  
If you guys don't like it, then that's fine, you don't have to, but I definitely prefer it over not being able to write anything at all due to Writer's Block!  
Now, let the story begin...**

Chapter One: Prologue

 _Once upon a time, in a hidden part of France, a handsome young prince lived in a beautiful castle._  
 _Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was selfish and unkind._

There was a knock on the door.  
"Master? It's time," came a stern female voice with hidden maternal undertones.  
Prince Erik sneered as a maid finished dusting his wig with powder before rising to find one of the servants' children admiring one of the many beautiful trinkets that graced his bedchamber.  
What was her name again?  
Marie? Elisabeth?  
Ah, well, no matter.  
"Leave it!" he snapped suddenly, causing the annoying child to squeak and place the small gilt and enamel music box back on its stand before scurrying away like the timid little mouse she was.

 _He taxed his kingdom to fill his castle with the most beautiful objects and his parties with the most beautiful people._

Erik sneered from where he sat, watching a group of eligible young maidens dancing gracefully in front of him, all of them similarly arrayed in white silk gowns with their hair elegantly teased up in the latest fashions, all of them vying for his attentions, all of them hoping to win his heart.  
The people swirled, creating an endless sea of faces and colors, fabrics and lace.  
Growing bored, he got up to mingle, maybe even dance with a maiden or two.  
They were all the same to him, he wouldn't know this one from that one.  
The music swelled and the dancing continued, the rush of the night filling the guests with a sense of breathless excitement and anticipation.  
Then, there was a sudden banging on the ballroom doors...

 _One night, an unexpected intruder arrived at the castle, seeking shelter from the bitter storm._

"What is the meaning of this?" Erik demanded angrily, furious that this shrivelled old crone was ruining his ball.

 _As a gift, she offered the prince a single rose._

Scoffing at the pitiful token, Erik tossed it carelessly over his shoulder and onto the ballroom floor, ordering his guards to escort the unsightly creature out of his presence immediately.

 _Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince turned the woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearances...for beauty is found within._

Erik threw back his head and laughed cruelly.  
"Say what you will, old woman, but we all know what beauty looks like...and it is not you.  
Now leave, or I will have you arrested!"

Turning, Erik moved to leave, but a gasp from his guests made him pause.  
As he looked over his shoulder, his eyes widened in shock.  
Something was happening to the old woman.

Her dirty cloak and hood seemed to engulf her in a cocoon of sorts until she had all but disappeared.  
Then, all of a sudden, there was a bright flash of light and everyone instinctively shielded their eyes.  
When they looked again, the old beggar woman was gone.  
In her place was the most beautiful woman that Erik had ever seen, with long silvery-blonde tresses that cascaded down her back like a waterfall of silken moonlight and piercing violet eyes that were like hooks to the soul.

She was floating above him, emitting a soft silvery glow not unlike that of the stars.  
Instantly, Erik realized exactly what she was, for he had read about such things in his childhood before his mother had died and his father had demanded that he change his interests to something more befitting a prince.  
She was an enchantress, a woman of great magical power, who had come to put him to a test.  
And Erik had failed.

 _The prince begged for forgiveness, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart._  
 _As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous demon, and placed a powerful curse on the castle and all who lived there._

The guests had long since fled and the ballroom was now filled with the screams and wails of those transforming.  
"Meg! Where is my little Meg? Has anyone seen my baby?" Madame Giry called out desperately even as her elder two daughters sobbed and writhed in agony on the ballroom floor.  
As all of this went on, Erik could only stand there and watch, his eyes wide and filled with horror, his shattered mind unable to process what was happening around him.  
He did not wish to see such horrors, but, strangely enough, found himself unable to look away.  
Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away from the horrid sight before him and fled into the safety of his chambers, only to let out a horrified scream as he caught a glimpse of himself in a large mirror mounted on the wall...

 _As days bled into years, the prince and his servants were forgotten by the world, for the Enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved._  
 _But the rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose._  
 _If the prince could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken._  
 _If not, he would be doomed to remain accursed for all time._  
 _As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a monster?_

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Two...


	2. Fifteen Years Later

Chapter Two: Fifteen Years Later...

Fifteen years later, daily life in the charming little village of Brocéliande seemed to be quite normal.  
But all was not as it appeared.  
Many years ago, an impoverished artist had arrived from Paris with a young child, but no wife, causing no end of gossip in the small town.  
Now, as 21 year old Christine Daaé went about doing her chores, she found herself longing for a taste of adventure outside of her books.

"Good morning, Monsieur Armand!" she called out cheerfully to the village cobbler, who was currently standing outside his workshop, scratching his balding head in confusion.  
"Have you lost something again?"  
Monsieur Armand frowned distractedly.  
"Why yes," he answered, "I do believe I have. Only problem is, I can't remember what!"  
Shaking her head in fond amusement, Christine continued on her way, painfully aware, as she did so, of the other villagers' shameless gossip about her habits.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped into the small library owned by the local priest, Father Jean-Pierre Mansart.  
"Good morning, Père!" she greeted the kindly priest warmly.  
"Bonjour, Christine," the aging man smiled kindly.  
"Have you come for a new book?"

Christine merely smiled in response, before going over to the shelves.  
After a few minutes, she pulled out a small cloth-bound book.  
"I'll take this one, please!" she said.  
Father Mansart let out a loud, bellowing laugh.  
"That one? But, my child, you've already read it five times!"  
Christine looked offended.  
"Well it's my favorite!" she protested.  
"Two star-crossed lovers from feuding families, one is betrothed to another against her will..."  
She broke off, sighing dreamily.  
 _"Tres romantique!"_

The priest chuckled.  
"Well, if you like it all that much, it's yours!"  
Christine stared at him in shock.  
"But, Père..." she stammered in astonishment.  
"I couldn't possibly..."  
"I insist!" the priest said firmly, and Christine laughed in delight.  
"Well, thank you! Thank you very much!"

Exiting the library, she entered the village square where she took a seat on the edge of a large fountain and opened her new book.  
 _"Two households, both alike in dignity._  
 _In fair Verona, where we lay our scene..."_

Suddenly a large shadow fell over her and Christine looked up to see the arrogant smirk of 23 year old Raoul de Chagny.  
Immediately, her heart sank.  
Raoul was the son of the Comte Louis-Antoine de Chagny, who had moved to Brocéliande three years before, and ever since meeting Christine a mere two weeks after his arrival, had been hounding her relentlessly to marry him.

She shuddered internally in revulsion, but plastered a false smile on her face, flawlessly masking her emotions.  
"Bonjour, Vicomte," she greeted him politely as she stood up and began walking back home.  
"What a pleasant surprise..."  
 _'Please go away!'_ she begged internally.  
But it seemed that she was to be disappointed as Raoul began boasting about his family's wealth, and how he was due to inherit everything upon his father's death as the eldest son, seeing as how his elder brother, Philippe, had died from the Plague at the age of 13, and how he could therefore afford to buy her almost anything her heart desired, if only she would agree to marry him.  
Finally she was home, and practically running up the front steps after Raoul tried to steal a kiss, she slammed the door behind her and made sure it was securely locked before breathing a sigh of relief.  
Free at last...for now.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Three...


	3. How Does A Moment Last Forever?

Chapter Three: How Does A Moment Last Forever?

Hanging up her basket in the entryway, Christine descended the steps to the small basement workshop where her father, Gustave, sat gazing longingly at a portrait of a beautiful red-haired woman, her sky-blue eyes full of love as she gazed down at the blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms.

 _"How does a moment last forever?"_ he murmured to himself, seemingly unaware of Christine's presence.  
" _How can a story never die?  
It is love we must hold onto.  
Never easy, but we try..." _he broke off with a sob.

Christine moved forward, placing a soft hand on her father's shoulder.  
 _"Sometimes our happiness is captured,"_ she answered gently.  
 _"Somehow a time and place stand still.  
Love lives on inside our hearts,  
And always will..."_

Holding her father as he wept in her arms, Christine knew that something had to change.  
Her poor father had never fully recovered from the grief of losing his wife to a sudden outbreak of plague, and was extremely protective of his only child as a result.  
"Papa, do you think I'm odd?" she asked curiously a few hours later, as her father was tinkering with a music box that was shaped like a rose.

Gustave jolted in surprise, almost knocking the music box off the workbench in the process.  
"My daughter, odd?" he exclaimed almost indignantly.  
"Where in the world would you get an idea like that?"

Christine just shrugged.  
"This is a small village, Papa," she reminded him.  
"People talk."

Gustave sighed regretfully.  
"Yes, but small also means 'safe'."  
Christine smiled ruefully.  
"I know, Papa."

And she did.  
Truly, she did.  
She just wanted to see more than what little there was to see in the village.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Four...


	4. Into The Woods

Chapter Four: Into The Woods

"Goodbye, Papa!" Christine called out as Gustave hitched Alexandré and Étoile up to the cart the next morning.  
"Good luck!"  
"Goodbye, _ma petite Belle_ ," her father said affectionately.  
"Is there anything that you would like for me to bring back from Rennes?"

Christine smiled slightly, already knowing exactly what she wanted.  
"A red rose," she said immediately, "and your promise that you'll return home safely."  
Gustave chuckled fondly.  
"Every year, you ask for a rose..." he sighed.  
"Why, Christine, are you so unlike other girls?"  
Christine laughed.  
"Really, Papa, do you really wish that I was like other girls? Those frivolous things?" she scoffed.  
"Besides, every year, you have never failed to bring me a rose, and so that is what I want," the redhead said with a smile.  
"I truly don't wish for anything else."

Gustave shook his head in fond exasperation, knowing that there was nothing he could do to convince her otherwise.  
His little Christine, always so sweet...  
"Then a rose you shall have!" he promised.  
"Goodbye, Christine, and take care while I'm gone!"  
He urged the horses on and they began trotting away.  
"I love you..." Christine called after him.  
"I love you too, _mon ange_!" he called back, smiling and waving at his daughter.

Christine sighed, watching until her father had completely disappeared.  
She loved her father so dearly, it was hard when he went on his trips.  
But she would be okay.  
There were plenty of things she could do here to keep herself busy and pass the time.  
There were still chores that needed to be done, and then perhaps when she was finished, if there was still time, she could get back to her book.  
She turned around to go back into the house, almost running into someone who had been standing behind her.

She looked up at the familiar face.  
Dark brown hair and light blue eyes with perfect white teeth smiling down at her.  
"Vicomte," she said shortly, trying to hide her irritation.  
He was always following her around, and always seemed to show up at the worst possible moments.  
"Bonjour, Christine..."

Some hours later, Gustave was hopelessly lost in the deep forest that surrounded the tiny village.  
As he rode along, everything began to look the same.  
He could have sworn that he saw that same tree just a few moments ago...

He tried to tell himself that everything was going to be okay, but something deep down inside him began fretting a little bit.  
"We should have been there by now..." he frowned in confusion, looking at a fork in the road.  
Without thinking much of it, he turned left.

As the horses slowly made their way through the woods, there was a sudden flash of lightning and the horses reared, trying to avoid a tree as it fell, blocking their path.  
" _Mon Dieu_ , that was close..." Gustave gasped in relief, his entire body trembling at how close they had come to death.  
He tried to whip the stubborn horses when they wouldn't move, but they still wouldn't listen.  
"What has gotten into you two?" he asked.  
Turning, Gustave stiffened.  
Howling.  
Wolves.

The horses broke into a full-fledged gallop as the wolves came into view and Gustave tried to steer them back down the path they had just come, but the horses seemed to have a mind of their own.  
They raced on through the dark woods, the wolves following close behind.  
Gustave felt fear rising in his heart, but he tried to tell himself to stay calm.  
If they could only find a way to escape, maybe they could drop the wolves' scent on them...

But then the horses reared again, this time throwing both Gustave and the cart off of them.  
Quickly scrambling to his feet, Gustave tried to reach toward the panicked animals and calm them, but the two horses were already out of sight.  
But not the wolves.

The wolves were moving towards him, stalking him like prey.  
He found himself backing up slowly, until his back hit something cold and hard.  
He turned around to find a pair of huge wrought iron gates, frozen over with ice, and what appeared to be a large castle, looming ominously in the distance.  
His legs shaking so much that they could barely support his own weight, Gustave fell through the gates as they creaked open, seemingly of their own accord, closing just in time as the nearest wolf apparently grew tired of playing with its food and decided to try its luck at killing said food instead.

His heart racing, Gustave lay on his back in the snow for a few moments, blinking dazedly up at the darkly overcast sky.  
Finally, once he had recovered enough to heave himself to his feet, he made his way forward, toward the castle and whoever lived inside.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Five...


	5. To Wed Or Not To Wed?

Chapter Five: To Wed Or Not To Wed?

Christine groaned internally as Raoul threw his arm around her shoulder and began steering her down the main street.  
"This really isn't a good time, Vicomte," she protested weakly.  
"I have chores to finish."

But Raoul just scoffed before forcing her into the village tavern.  
Christine wrinkled her nose in disgust at the heavy smell of smoke combined with the leers and catcalls of quite a few drunken men.  
"Really, Christine," Raoul sighed as he sank into a comfortable seat near the empty fireplace, forcing her onto his lap regardless of her desperate attempts to move away.  
"You can't remain unmarried forever."

"I mean," he continued, waving a hand toward an older woman who was wandering past, clutching a small tin cup, "just look at poor Vivienne, barely even thirty years of age, and already reduced to begging on the streets!"  
He clucked disapprovingly and Christine felt her temper rising.  
"Of course," he went on, "you're still young enough to avoid such a tragic fate, especially for one with your beauty..."  
His hand trailed lightly over her neck before moving down underneath her collar.

Christine shot to her feet and slapped him so hard it sent him crashing to the floor, chair and all.  
"How dare you?" she seethed, her blue eyes flashing with rage before storming out of the tavern.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Six...


	6. This Castle Is Alive

Chapter Six: This Castle Is Alive...

Gustave had seen great buildings before, having lived the majority of his life in Paris, where tall, beautiful buildings dominated the skyline, but nothing he had ever seen in Paris could have ever prepared him for the castle that he saw now.  
It almost seemed to defy gravity, with large turrets that reached high into the stormy sky, and its sides were made of gray stone, cut so that it seemed as though the castle had simply grown out of the ground.  
The path that Gustave now walked on was actually a long bridge that spanned a frozen moat and ended in front of the castle's massive entryway.

To the right of the huge front doors was a large colonnade.  
To Gustave's surprise, growing behind the colonnade, despite the strangely cold weather, were beautiful rosebushes.  
White roses blossomed on all of them, so pure that they even stood out against the snow.

A small shiver of fear flashed over Gustave as he gazed up at a row of torches held by hands sculpted by iron.  
The hands were so lifelike that Gustave couldn't help touching one just to be sure.  
The hand remained still.  
But the door did not.  
It swung open in front of him.

"Hello?" Gustave called out uncertainly as he stepped inside, the faint strains of a harpsichord reaching his ears.  
"Is anyone here?"  
Almost immediately, the music stopped and everything was silent.  
Noticing a coatrack, Gustave took off his hat and coat, hanging them up to dry.  
With the cold layers gone, Gustave felt a bit better as he continued on his way, never noticing that the second his back was turned, the coatrack came to life, shaking the snow off Gustave's coat and hat like a dog shaking off the rain.

Gustave also failed to notice a golden candelabra and ornate mantel clock sitting on a nearby table.  
As he passed them, the candelabra slowly turned, watching the man.  
"What are you doing?" the clock hissed furiously under its breath as the candelabra craned its neck.  
"Stop that!"  
Instantly, the candelabra stopped.  
But it was not because the clock had told it to.  
It stopped because Gustave had heard the clock's barely hushed whisper and spun around.

For a tense moment, Gustave eyed the candelabra and the mantel clock.  
He approached the table on which they were placed and picked up the candelabra.  
He held it up to the dim light and inspected it.  
He turned it upside down, then right side up.  
He shifted it to the left and then to the right.  
Finally he flicked it with his finger.  
 _Ping, ping, ping.  
_ Appearing satisfied by the candelabra's seemingly unassuming nature, he put it back down on the table and moved on.  
Behind him, the candelabra rubbed its head gingerly, ignoring the "I told you so" look that the mantel clock was currently shooting at it.

Gustave continued his exploration of the castle.  
A grand staircase rose from the middle of the massive foyer.  
Almost tiptoeing, as the huge, empty space made Gustave feel even more like an intruder than he already had, he made his way behind the staircase.  
His heart beat faster when he noticed an entire wall covered in weapons of all sorts, shapes and sizes.  
Whoever lived there, or had lived there, obviously knew his armory.

Suddenly, Gustave again heard the faint sound of music being played.  
He followed the soft, slow melody, passing several closed doors before coming to a pair of large gilded doors that hung open.  
Inside, through the thick shadows, Gustave saw a ballroom of massive proportions.  
The music seemed to be coming from a dusty harpsichord in the corner.  
But as soon as Gustave took a step forward, the sound abruptly stopped.

"Hello?" Gustave called, peering into the now silent room.  
Remnants of decorations, long since decayed, were strewn about, and when he squinted hard enough, Gustave could make out a hastily repaired window.  
But there was no sign of anyone, no musician seated on the harpsichord's bench.  
Gustave shook his head, wondering if he'd imagined the music.

Shivering, Gustave turned his back on the ballroom.  
In addition to the phantom music, there was something infinitely sad about the space.  
It was a room meant for joy and excitement, but instead exuded an aura of gloom and despair.  
As he made his way back into the foyer, he couldn't help wondering what had happened there to give the ballroom such a depressing feeling.  
Perhaps he had been hearing echoes of the past?  
Gustave had only just shrugged off the melancholy that had descended upon him when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone lunging toward him.

Gustave recoiled in fear, his breath catching in his throat.  
But a moment later, he exhaled in relief as he realized that what he had seen was simply his own reflection.  
A broken mirror hung on the wall.  
In the center was a large hole, with long shards of glass radiating from it, as though the mirror had been struck by a fist.  
The hole had distorted Gustave's reflection.  
He stared at his face, the lines around his eyes made deeper, his nose moved to the left instead of the center.  
He raised a hand to his face as if to check that it was in fact just his reflection and not an actual change in his appearance.

As he did so, Gustave heard the sound of a fire crackling from somewhere close by.  
Turning he saw an open door through which he could make out a welcoming light.  
He looked down at his hands.  
They were shaking with a chill that had returned upon his seeing the eerie mirror.  
Cautiously, he made his way inside the room to find a huge, elaborately-carved oaken fireplace that took up almost an entire wall, the fire inside crackling merrily.  
Gustave could feel the heat all the way from where he stood just inside the doorway and moved further inside with no further hesitance, gratefully collapsing into a large wingback chair that was positioned directly in front of the fireplace.

"Ah, that's better..." Gustave sighed in relief, gratefully moving in front of the flames and holding out his hands.  
"So much better..."  
When his front felt sufficiently warmed, he turned to heat his backside.  
His eyes widened.  
Just off the room he was currently in was yet another room.  
And in that room was a long dining table covered in an elaborate and delicious-smelling feast.  
Gustave's stomach growled.

Looking to see if he could possibly have missed any other guests and finding none, Gustave left the warmth of the fire to stand in front of the table.  
His stomach growled again.  
He knew he probably shouldn't...but he couldn't stop himself.

He tore a hunk of bread off a massive loaf and then cut a healthy hunk of cheese from an even healthier wheel.  
"Do you mind? I'm just going to help myself..." he called out to his unseen host.  
His eyes landed on a delicate china teacup full of an amber liquid.  
He was lifting it to his lips when...

"Maman said I wasn't supposed to move because it might be scary."  
Gustave nearly dropped the cup.  
Had it just spoken to him?  
"Sorry."  
Gustave's face turned deathly pale and his eyes bulged, strangled choking sounds coming from his throat.  
"Monsieur, are you alright?" the teacup asked worriedly.  
Gustave nodded his head distractedly.  
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, I just..."  
Suddenly he leapt back, trembling, sending the chair crashing to the floor.  
"D-d-did you...just...speak?" his voice shook fearfully.  
"Oui!" the teacup chirped happily.  
Gustave shook his head frantically.  
"I must be losing my mind. I have to get out of here!"  
And with that, he fled the castle, racing down the front steps as fast as his legs could carry him.

Suddenly, his eyes fell again on the rose-covered colonnade.  
"Wait, Christine's rose..." he muttered dazedly.  
He reached forward, unknowing of the demonic yellow eyes that watched his every move with suspicion and, pulling a small penknife out of his pocket, carefully cut off a single rose with silky petals of the purest white and sharp thorns as long as his fingernail hidden among the velvety forest-green leaves.  
"You're not red, but you'll have to do!" he decided firmly.  
Immediately, as the icy temperatures dropped even further and the wind picked up into a furious storm, Gustave knew that he had just made a grave mistake.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Seven...


	7. How Do I Loathe Thee

Chapter Seven: How Do I Loathe Thee, Let Me Count The Ways...

Christine stormed down the back steps in a raging temper, carrying buckets of feed for the chickens.  
"Yet again, he asks me to marry him!" the redhead burst out furiously, blue eyes flashing with rage.  
"Me, the wife of that rude, arrogant, self-absorbed, spoilt little brat..." she sneered, scattering feed everywhere.  
"And this time he has the gall to try to take liberties with me, as if I'm some common strumpet that he could buy for two francs a night? Of all the nerve!" she fumed.

"La Vicomtesse, can't you just see it?" Christine put on a false simpering tone, batting her eyes dramatically.  
"La Vicomtesse, Raoul's little wife...ugh!" she slammed the feed buckets down a bit harder than she probably should have, sending squawking chickens scattering everywhere.  
"I'd rather die!" she hissed, practically seething.

Suddenly, there was a loud whinnying call and Christine looked up in surprise to see a dappled gray mare galloping toward her at top speed.  
"Étoile?" she gasped in disbelief, quickly rushing to soothe the distressed animal and immediately noticing the absence of a rider.  
"What happened? Where's Alexandré? Where's Papa?"  
However the panicked mare resisted the redhead's efforts to calm her, frantically tossing her head uneasily toward the outskirts of the village and pacing back and forth in agitation.

Quickly getting the message, Christine heaved herself astride.  
"Come, Étoile, we have to find them! You have to take me to them!"

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Eight...


	8. Into The Woods, Part II

Chapter Eight: Into The Woods, Part II

Christine knew that her father had gone into the woods.  
That much she was certain of, as it was the route that he always took.  
But as Étoile left the familiar countryside of the village and cantered through the thickening forest, her hopes began to dim.  
This part of the forest was huge.  
Finding just one man, let alone the man's horse, among all of these trees seemed to be almost, if not completely impossible!  
"Hurry, Étoile," she urged as the mare veered around a fallen tree that had been split in half.  
"Lead me to them!"

The woods grew ever thicker, the sky ever darker, but Étoile plunged bravely ahead.  
Christine scanned the ground on each side of the small path.  
Suddenly, she spotted her father's cart, tipped over onto its side.  
Her father's beautiful music boxes were strewn about, some broken beyond repair, others less damaged.  
But there was no sign of her father, or of Alexandré.

Nudging Étoile forward with her heels, Christine was shocked when the mare refused to move, even going so far as to dig her hooves into the snow.  
"Étoile, what in Heaven's name has gotten into you?" the redhead gasped in disbelief.  
The mare whinnied loudly and reared, effectively dislodging Christine, who landed headfirst in a deep snowdrift.  
Once she had managed to dig herself free, she looked around, and saw a tall pair of wrought-iron gates not too far away, and just beyond them, a large castle, looming ominously in the distance, its icy turrets and snowy towers dark and forbidding against the thick gray clouds that swirled threateningly overhead.  
So this was the reason for Étoile's uncharacteristic bout of defiance, Christine realized with surprise.  
Her father had to be in there, somewhere!

Leading a once-again cooperative-Étoile through the gates, Christine was grateful to see a stable nearby and guided the exhausted mare into one of the stalls, making sure she was comfortable, before moving toward the stone steps.  
The door creaked loudly as she opened it.  
"Hello?"

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Nine...


	9. Look, A Girl

Chapter Nine: Look, A Girl...

Pushing open the doors, Christine found herself inside a massive foyer.  
A few torches hung in sconces on the walls, barely casting enough light to illuminate the space.  
Squaring her shoulders, the redhead took a deep breath and walked farther into the castle.

As the 21 year old made her way toward the grand staircase, her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark.  
She heard muffled whispers, but she couldn't see anyone.  
Two voices rose and fell, and then she heard one phrase uttered clear as day.  
"But what if she is the one? The girl who will break the spell?"

"Who's there?" Christine demanded sharply, whipping around and peering through the shadowy gloom in the direction that the voices had been coming from.  
Nothing.  
Just some oddly-placed antiques.

Christine frowned in confusion, her brow wrinkling slightly, as she picked up a nearby torch.  
Then, closing her eyes and steeling her nerves, she took a deep breath before placing one foot on the bottommost step.

As she climbed, frightening shadows moved and twisted in the eerie torchlight and it was all Christine could do to keep from fleeing then and there.  
When she reached the top of the labyrinthine stairs, she found herself in a tower, which, Christine noticed with increasing dread, appeared to be used as a prison.  
A grated iron door stood opposite the stairs.  
The latticework was so thick that it was impossible to see through it clearly, but she could still make out the shape of someone sitting inside.  
"Papa!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward and dropping to her knees in front of her father's cell.

Gustave's eyes widened in shock and horror.  
"Christine, what the devil do you think you're doing?" he protested frantically, his voice hoarse and raspy.  
"Getting you out of here," she replied firmly, looking around for the keys.  
Suddenly, the temperature dropped by at least twenty degrees, the torch that Christine had just set down suddenly sputtering and going out without any warning.

Then, there was a voice, a voice that was as cold as ice, yet soft as silk.  
A voice that was more beautiful than any voice Christine had ever heard in her short life, which admittedly, wasn't many.  
A voice that could make even the angels in Heaven weep if it so desired.  
"Why, I do believe we have a guest..."

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Ten...


	10. Devil Take The Hindmost

Chapter Ten: Devil Take The Hindmost

Christine gasped, dropping her now useless source of light, and backed up against the bars of her father's cell.  
"Who's there?" she called out, her voice shaking slightly.  
"The master of this castle," the Voice hissed darkly.  
"Please, let him out!" she pleaded.  
"He's old, and his health has never been the best..."

Almost on cue, Gustave gave a hoarse, rattling cough that caused his entire body to shake.  
"This man is a thief!" the Voice snarled, and Christine's temper snapped.  
"He is not!" she screamed, but the Voice paid her no heed.  
"I gave him shelter, and what did I get in return?  
A rose stolen from my garden..." the Voice trailed off.

Christine was disgusted.  
"So you gave him a life sentence just for picking a flower?" she scoffed.  
"I was sentenced to eternal damnation just for refusing a flower!" the Voice snapped back furiously.  
"If you ask me, mademoiselle, I think he got the better deal!"

"Wait," Christine called out desperately, as it seemed like the Voice was about to leave.  
"I asked for the rose, take me instead!"  
The Voice let out a barely audible sound of surprise.  
"You? You would take his place?"  
The Voice was soft, almost hesitant, with a strange sense of longing hidden underneath.

"Christine, no!" Gustave called out desperately.  
"I lost your mother, I can't lose you too!"  
The redhead steeled her nerves.  
"You have my word," she said as firmly as she could manage.  
"Done!"

Immediately, she felt what seemed like a cloak brush past her and impossibly cold, almost bony hands roughly pushed her away from the cell door before the sound of a key turning in the lock was heard.  
Then, just as Christine was getting back to her feet from where she'd fallen after being pushed, hissing at the pain from her scraped elbow, which, thankfully was not bleeding, she saw her father being manhandled down the tower steps by a dark, shadowy figure.  
"Wait," she protested.  
"Wait!"

The figure turned back and she saw a pair of glowing yellow eyes.  
"Your word, mademoiselle!" the Voice hissed ominously, causing Christine's eyes to grow wide as she let out a horrified gasp, shrinking back almost instinctively, before both of them were out of sight.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Eleven...


	11. Introductions

Chapter Eleven: Introductions

"I didn't even get to say goodbye..." Christine sobbed from where she sat, huddled against the wall, her face buried in her skirts.  
Suddenly, her head shot up as she heard something coming up the steps.  
Her eyes widened in shock as a gleaming golden candlelabra entered, followed closely by an ornate rosewood mantel clock.  
" _Enchanté_ , mademoiselle!" the candlelabra fairly purred as it bowed slightly, placing a delicate kiss to the redhead's hand.  
Almost in spite of herself, Christine blushed, her lips twitching slightly as she fought desperately to keep from giggling.  
The clock just rolled its eyes and coughed meaningfully.

Then Christine realized what had just happened.  
"Wait, you can talk?" she gasped in amazement.  
"Well, of course he can talk!" the clock huffed in annoyance.  
"It's getting him to shut up that's the trick!"

"Might we escort you to your room, mademoiselle?" the candlelabra inquired.  
The redhead frowned in confusion.  
"My room? But I thought..."  
"What, that you were to stay here in this gloomy old tower?" the candlelabra interrupted.  
Christine nodded silently.  
"No, no, no!" the candlelabra scoffed.  
"You're not a prisoner, you're our guest! Right this way, mademoiselle..."  
"André, the master..." the clock warned anxiously, but the candlelabra chose to ignore him, as usual.

As they walked, Christine couldn't help but glance around at the medieval tapestries on the walls.  
There was one with a unicorn and another with a white stag and a third with a dragon.  
Finally, they arrived at a large set of doors, which opened to reveal the most magnificent bedroom that Christine had ever seen.

As if in a dream, the redhead walked inside, her eyes feasting on every perfect detail of the room.  
There was a large white and gold-painted armoire along one wall, and along another wall, a beautiful writing desk had been placed.  
A chair covered in rich velvet was tucked underneath it, and a neat stack of crisp white paper was placed on one side.  
Opposite a set of huge picture windows covered by thick satin drapes was an enormous canopy bed that took up nearly a third of the room.  
And tucked in a corner, delicate and sweet, was a dressing table with a mirror framed in gold.  
Even the ceiling of the room was breathtaking.  
White clouds had been painted in a perfect blue sky, the detail so real that Christine could have sworn that she saw the the clouds move.

"And this is to be my room?" Christine asked, unable to believe what she was seeing.  
"But, of course, _ma cherie_ ," said André, making his way to the bed and leaping onto it.  
"As I said before, you are our guest. Everything has been arranged."  
A cloud of dust rose up into the air.  
"Oh, dear," he coughed.  
"I must admit, though, your arrival was unexpected..."

As if on cue, a feather duster swooped into the room.  
Christine's eyes widened as the feather duster quickly moved from surface to surface, sweeping until everything shined.  
Stopping, she bowed in Christine's direction.  
 _"Enchanté,_ mademoiselle!" the featherduster chirped sweetly.  
"Don't worry, I'll have this room spotless again in no time!" she said before turning and jumping into the arms of André.  
"This plan of yours is...dangerous," she purred, giggling.

Christine barely stifled her own giggle as André waggled his eyebrows and replied, "I would risk anything to kiss you again, Fleurette..."  
He leaned closer and puckered his lips.  
Fleurette stopped him.  
"No, _mon amour_ ," she said, her voice serious.  
"I've been burned by you before. We must be strong."  
"But how can I be strong when you make me so weak?" André asked longingly, his voice husky with desire.

Christine averted her eyes from the romantic pair and turned her attention toward other items in the room.  
"Is everything in here alive?" she asked curiously, picking up a silver mother-of pearl hairbrush.  
"Hello, what's your name?"  
The clock looked at Christine and shook his head.  
"Um, that's a hairbrush..." he said, as though pointing out the obvious.  
Christine opened her mouth to ask just what the rules were for enchanted objects when suddenly, a loud snore sounded behind her.  
Turning, she yelped in surprise as the armoire's drawers opened and shut by themselves in time with the snoring.

"Do not be alarmed, mademoiselle!" André said smoothly.  
"This is just your armoire! Meet La Esmeralda, a great singer!"  
The armoire let out a long, loud yawn.  
"But a better sleeper," the clock added huffily as he hopped over and nudged the armoire.

With a grunt, La Esmeralda awoke.  
Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she gave a surprised little shout when she noticed her audience.  
"Firmin!" she exclaimed in an overly dramatic manner.  
"You officious alarm clock! A diva needs her beauty rest!"  
Firmin's springs tightened at the insult and his mouth opened, ready with a sharp rebuke.  
But André didn't give him the chance.  
He jumped in before the clock could say a word.  
"Of course you do, Señora," he said in his most soothing voice.  
Forgive us, but we have someone for you to dress!"

Spotting the redhead for the first time, La Esmeralda emitted a happy cry.  
"Finally!" she crowed delightedly, "a woman!"  
Then, as though she were doing inventory, La Esmeralda took stock of Christine.  
"Pretty eyes...delicate features...beautiful hair...a perfect canvas. Yes! I shall find you something worthy of a princess!"  
"Oh, but I'm not a princess..." Christine protested, blushing furiously.  
"Nonsense!" La Esmeralda declared, brushing off Christine's protests.  
"Now, let's see what I've got in my drawers."  
Opening the top one, she shouted in surprise as a few moths flew out.  
"Oh, how embarrassing!"  
To Christine's surprise, both sides of the armoire went from white to a soft shade of pink.  
The armoire was blushing!

Before the redhead could ask how such a thing was possible...or how any of this was possible, for that matter...La Esmeralda began to pull things helter-skelter out of her drawers and off of hangers.  
A large hoop skirt went over Christine's head, followed by at least four different dresses cut right then and there by the armoire to be used as fabric.  
Christine was turned and twisted as La Esmeralda assembled an outfit.

When the armoire paused to take a breath, Christine snuck a peek at her reflection in the mirror across the room.  
To her horror, she saw that the armoire had indeed created something from what she'd had in her drawers.  
But the result was the most garishly pink monstrosity that the redhead had ever had the misfortune to see.  
She looked like a cream puff, for Heaven's sake!

Catching André's eye, she saw that the candelabra was equally mortified.  
Both he and the Firmin were inching toward the door.  
They knew better than to mess with La Esmeralda when she was in the middle of a creation.

"Anyway," André said, "if you have any further needs, the staff will attend to them. We are at your service. Au revoir!"  
Then, with a deep bow, he grabbed Firmin and slipped out of the room.  
Fleurette followed close behind.  
A moment later, the door closed, leaving Christine alone with La Esmeralda.  
"Cowards..." she huffed in annoyance, glaring at the door.

Turning back to La Esmeralda, Christine sighed.  
"Señora?" she spoke up nervously.  
"Sí, mi pequeña muñeca?" the armoire responded with a sleepy yawn.  
"How did you get here?"  
The armoire immediately perked up at the opportunity to gossip.  
Leaning her large frame over the bed, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.  
"Well you see, my dear, all it takes is a stormy night and one spoilt little prince..."  
But La Esmeralda's voice then faded into soft snores as sleep overcame her.

Christine groaned.  
It seemed as if she wouldn't be getting her answers after all!  
At least, not anytime soon...

Slipping out of the nightmare of a dress, the 21 year old turned and looked around the room.  
She was alone, her only guardian fast asleep.  
Now was the perfect opportunity for her to escape.  
The only question was, how?

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twelve...


	12. Rejected

Chapter Twelve: Disgraced, Rejected, Publically Humiliated...

Raoul still couldn't believe it.  
He had been rejected.  
Coldly, flatly, completely rejected.

He was a Vicomte, a proud member of _la noblesse_!  
All he had to do was wave a hundred or so francs or tell someone his name and he would have anything he desired.  
And now this commoner, this peasant girl, this nobody, for all intents and purposes, had denied him?  
Who did she think she was?  
Nobody said no to the Vicomte de Chagny!

And to think he had even been willing to give his name to the little upstart.  
Maybe he'd make her his whore instead.  
Yes, that would teach the bitch her place...

Just then, the door to the tavern flew open.  
Gustave stood in the doorway.  
His eyes were wild and his clothing was torn.  
He grabbed onto the doorjamb as a cough wracked his body.  
"Help!" he gasped out frantically when the coughing had subsided.  
"Somebody help me! We have to go...not a minute to lose..."

As he spoke, Gustave moved further into the tavern, seeking out the warmth of the blazing fire that roared in the hearth.  
Seeing how disheveled the man was, the innkeeper tried to calm him.  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." he said. "Slow down, there, Gustave..."  
But Gustave shook his head frantically.  
"He's got Christine, he's got Christine locked up in a dungeon!"  
Raoul sat up straighter, his interest piqued.  
"Who's got her?" the innkeeper urged.  
"A demon!" Gustave rasped. "A hideous, corpselike demon!"

Shocked by the man's words, the whole tavern went silent...for a moment.  
And then Armand the cobbler held up his mug and smiled.  
"What are you putting in this stuff?" he asked, breaking the silence.  
The innkeeper shook his head.  
"Don't look at me!" he retorted. "He just got here!"

Down at the other end of the counter, a vagrant who _hadn't_ just gotten there looked up.  
The man was even more disheveled than Gustave and his eyes were cloudy, his cheeks weathered.  
He glanced at Gustave and nodded, as though he and Gustave were in on it together.  
"What they don't tell you is that there used to be a castle, and we don't remember any of it!" he chortled.  
Instantly, the tavern filled with laughter.

"No, no, no!" Gustave protested.  
"He could be right! My daughter's life is in danger, why are you laughing?  
For God's sake, men, this is no joke!  
His castle is hidden deep in the woods! It's already winter there!"  
"Winter? In the middle of June?" Beatrice, the innkeeper's wife scoffed. "Surely you jest!"  
"But it's true!" Gustave insisted, looking around at the many disbelieving faces.  
"The monster is real! I have seen him with my own eyes! My daughter is his prisoner at this very moment! Will no one help me?"

Sitting in his chair, Raoul stayed silent.  
Christine's father was an odd man.  
He always had been, from what he'd heard from the local grapevine.  
But as the man continued to beg, an idea began to form in the back of Raoul's mind, an idea that might just get him exactly what he wanted.

Quickly, he got to his feet.  
"I'll help you, Monsieur Daaé!"  
Gustave rushed over and fell to his knees.  
"Oh, thank you, Vicomte!" he choked out gratefully. "Thank you!"  
"Don't thank me, Monsieur," Raoul replied shortly, pulling the old man to his feet.  
"Just lead me to the castle!"

Still mumbling his thanks, Gustave headed out of the tavern, Raoul fighting to hide a satisfied smirk as he followed close behind.  
If he was right, which he usually was, he had just found a way to make Christine marry him after all...

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirteen...


	13. Pot, Meet Kettle

Chapter Thirteen: Pot, Meet Kettle...

Outside on one of the many balconies, a masked man with yellow eyes was arguing with himself over the situation as he paced back and forth.  
"Oh, why did Erik let her stay here? Erik doesn't like guests! It was all very well and good before... ARRRGGGGHHHH!" he roared in frustration.  
"But what if she can break the spell? Then everything would be back to the way it was before, and Erik and everyone else would be back to normal!"  
Erik snorted mirthlessly.  
"Oh, but she would have to be both blind and stupid to fall in love with Erik looking like this! Stop being a fool and face reality here!"  
When he had had enough of pacing and ranting, he let out one last aggravated and tortured yell of frustration, and stormed back into the castle.  
Storming through the halls and up to the tower dungeon where he had left the cause of his current torment, his temper flared anew.

How dare she cause such an uproar in the middle of his carefully planned day!  
It was outrageous.  
It took him 30 minutes to get all the way from his room in the West Wing to the tower dungeon where she was supposed to be, but he was still raging when he got there.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" He demanded, before noticing that the tower was empty.  
"André! Firmin! Get yourselves in here right now! And you had better be able to explain this to me or the both of you will be on chamber pot duty for a month!" he roared furiously.

Immediately, the two servants in question hopped into view and Erik gestured around the empty tower.  
"WHERE. IS. THE GIRL?" he hissed murderously.  
"We thought you might appreciate the company..." André stammered nervously.  
Erik just snarled at him.  
Quickly, Firmin jumped into the conversation.  
"Master, I just wanted to assure you that I had no part in this reckless endeavor, honestly, giving her a suite in the East Wing..."  
"You gave her a bedroom?" Erik interrupted sharply, his temper spiking again.  
"No, no, no, _he_ gave her a bedroom!" Firmin said quickly, glaring at André.  
"That is true," André confessed sheepishly, "but, if this girl is really the one who will break the spell, then perhaps we chould start by using the new room, along with a nice candelit dinner, to charm her! Good thinking, Firmin!"  
"What?" Firmin squawked indignantly.

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!" Erik scoffed.  
"Charm the prisoner...and even if I did, she is still the daughter of a common thief, what kind of person do you think that makes her?"  
"Now you can't judge people by who their fathers are, now can you?" Madame Giry said, as she came into the room, accompanied by her two elder daughters, Marie and Elisabeth, who were now teacups, Marie having been thirteen years old and Elisabeth ten that fateful night.  
Her youngest daughter, little Meg, a mere seven years of age at the time of the curse, was now a music box, placed high up on a lonely shelf in the bedroom that had been gifted to Christine.

She didn't need to say more, her loaded statement was clear enough.  
All around her, the staff cringed, prepared for the master to retaliate.  
But to their surprise, he didn't.  
He paused for a moment, his eyes locked on Madame Giry.  
After all, she knew better than anyone just how deep of a wound the master's father had left on him.

Finally, with a final grumble, Erik turned and left.  
André, Firmin and Madame Giry exchanged panicked glances and then rushed after him, knowing that he couldn't be left to his own devices if he was going to ask the girl to dinner.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Fourteen...


	14. That's Not A Request!

Chapter Fourteen: That's Not A Request!

Erik stood in front of the door to the bedroom that now, against his wishes, belonged to Christine.  
Behind him, his key staff waited, ready to help if necessary.  
He glared at them, and then, raising one bony, skeletal hand, he knocked twice.  
"You will join me for dinner!" he demanded, not waiting for a response.  
"That's not a request!"

On her serving trolley, Madame Giry gave a small cough.  
"Gently, Your Grace," she advised. "Remember, the girl has just lost her father and her freedom all in one day!"  
"Yes," André agreed. "The poor child is probably in there scared to death..."

Erik sighed.  
He was getting rather tired of the sudden onslaught of advice.  
Still, he knocked again.  
This time, there was an answer.  
"Just a minute!" Christine answered hurriedly, her voice sounding muffled through the thick door.

"You see?" André exclaimed happily.  
"There she is! Now, remember, Master, be gentle..."  
"Kind..." added Madame Giry.  
"Charming!" Fleurette chirped.  
"And above all..." Firmin intoned seriously.  
"YOU MUST CONTROL YOUR TEMPER!" they all shouted together.

Erik rolled his eyes, but knocked once more.  
"Will you join me for dinner?" he asked, his voice now smooth and sensuous as he called upon the many years of etiquette lessons that his tutors had relentlessly drilled into him, at his _dear_ father's orders.  
This time, Christine's response came much swifter.  
"You've taken me as your prisoner and now you want me to have dinner with you?"  
Her voice sounded much closer now, as if she were right on the other side of the door.  
"Are you insane?"

As her words registered, Erik's features closed off, his face growing cold and emotionless.  
"Calm yourself, Master!" Madame Giry said in her most reassuring tone, knowing that he was only moments away from losing his temper.  
"But she is infuriating," Erik replied through clenched teeth.  
"Difficult."  
Madame Giry fought not to smirk at the irony of Erik calling Christine difficult and attempted to reason with him instead.  
"Then you be _easy_..."

Taking a deep breath, Erik prepared to try once more.  
His skeletal frame visibly trembled with the effort and his jaw clenched fiercely, but he managed to speak in a manner that could at least be considered _mostly_ nice.  
"It would give me great pleasure," he gritted out, "if you would join me for dinner."  
Christine's response was immediate.  
"And it would give _me_ great pleasure," she returned, her voice dripping with sugary sweetness, "if you would go away and leave me alone!"

That was the final straw.  
"I told you to join me for dinner!" Erik snarled furiously, all previous attempts at politeness gone.  
"And I told you no!" Christine snapped back angrily. "I'd starve before I ever ate with you!"  
"Then be my guest!" Erik shouted back. "Go ahead and _starve_!"

Turning, he glared at his staff.  
After all, they were the ones who had gotten him into this mess in the first place!  
"If she doesn't eat with me, then she doesn't eat at all!" he vowed darkly.

"Master, no!" André protested. "Show her the real you!"  
"This is the real me!" Erik snapped harshly.  
Without another word, he whipped around and headed back toward his rooms.  
Behind him, he could hear the staff murmuring to themselves, their voices disappointed.  
But he didn't care.  
What had they expected to happen?  
For Christine to swoon at the idea of eating dinner with _him_?  
A demon?  
They were fools if they thought that would ever happen.  
And he had been a fool to try.

Pushing open the door to the West Wing, he walked over to a small table by the window.  
On top of it were a hand mirror and a glass jar, which held a single red rose that hung, enchanted, in its center.  
Picking up the mirror, Erik gave a single command.  
"Show me the girl!"  
Magic swirled and the mirror's glass slowly shifted and swirled until it revealed Christine.  
She sat, her back against the door of her room and a look of dread on her face.  
Slowly, he put the mirror down.  
Christine was scared because of him, because of the monster he was, the monster he might always be.

His eyes locked on the enchanted rose and he sighed, watching as yet another petal fell to the table.  
It was only a matter of time now before the last petal fell and when that happened...  
Erik shuddered and lowered his head in defeat.  
When that happened, all hope would be lost.  
And if Christine's reaction was any indication, he had just blown one of his few chances to put an end to the curse.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Fifteen...


	15. Will She Stay Or Will She Go?

Chapter Fifteen: Will She Stay Or Will She Go?

 _'I have to get out of here!'_ Christine thought desperately as she pushed herself to her feet.  
Her captor was a monster, his behavior just then had proven that without a doubt.  
If she didn't get away now, she would most likely be stuck here with him forever!  
The redhead shuddered at the horrifying thought.

Walking over to the window, she looked out.  
After being left alone with a narcoleptic wardrobe, she had wasted no time in putting an escape plan into action.  
Ripping apart the hideous dress that La Esmeralda had made her, she had used the fabric to create a makeshift rope, which now hung out the window, the end dangling about twenty feet from the ground.  
It wasn't perfect, but it would do.  
She had just taken a deep breath and picked up the rope when...  
 _Knock! Knock! Knock!  
_ "I told you to go away!" she shouted over her shoulder.

To her surprise, it was not her captor's coldly beautiful tones that answered.  
Instead, the voice that replied was gentle, kind and maternal.  
"Don't worry, dear," it said. "It's not the master, it's just Madame Giry."  
A moment later, the door swung open and a serving trolley rolled inside.  
Placed on top were a beautifully painted teapot and a teacup with the same design on it's side.  
The teapot, Christine had to assume, was Madame Giry.

Quickly, Christine tried to block the rope that hung behind her, but Madame Giry had already spotted it the moment she entered the room.  
It hadn't surprised her.  
The redhead seemed like a clever girl, and the master had given her no reason to feel welcome.  
Still, Madame Giry wasn't just going to let the girl leave...at least, not if she could help it.  
And having lived with a notoriously stubborn individual for quite some time, she knew that sometimes the best way to make people do what they didn't want to do was to give them the chance to do it on their own terms.

"It's a very long journey, my pet," Madame Giry said gently.  
"Let me fix you up before you go. I have found in my experience that most troubles seem a lot less troubling after a nice, soothing cup of herbal tea.  
Isn't that right, Señora?" Madame Giry turned and addressed La Esmeralda, who was still fast asleep.  
"Señora! Wake up!"

With a jolt, La Esmeralda awoke.  
"What time is it?" she asked, sounding sleepy and confused.  
"Did I fall asleep again?"  
"Señora used to only sleep eight hours a day," the small teacup piped up. "Now she sleeps twenty-three."  
"Elisabeth Antoinette Giry!" the teapot scolded, "How many times have I told you that it is impolite to discuss a lady's habits?"  
Elisabeth pouted adorably.  
"Sorry, Maman."  
Madame Giry rolled her eyes in exasperation.  
"And I thought Meg was bad with her infernal curiosity, always getting into things..." the teapot trailed off.  
"Meg?" Christine asked curiously.  
"My youngest," Madame Giry sighed, with a melancholy sigh.

"Forgive me for prying, Madame," the 21 year old began, "but why do you sound so sad?"  
"Would you not be sad as well, my poppet," the teapot replied," if you were separated from your child?"  
The redhead bit her lip awkwardly.  
"Where is Meg?"  
Madame Giry and Elisabeth both turned towards Christine's nightstand.  
A nightstand, which she now noticed, held a beautiful crystal and gold music box in the shape of a swan, with a pair of dancing slippers painted on the side.  
"Oh..." Christine breathed softly.  
"She can't move, she can't even speak," Madame Giry said sadly, her voice catching on a sob.  
"The only way she can communicate is through music."  
Elisabeth whimpered.  
"I want my sister back..." the teacup sniffled.

"What happened here?" Christine asked curiously.  
"Is this an enchantment? A curse?"  
Magic was the only logical explanation for the castle's oddities, in Christine's opinion.  
The redhead had read many a story about such things, but she had never in her wildest dreams imagined that they could actually be _real_!  
"She guessed it, Maman!" Elisabeth said cheerfully. "She's really smart!"  
As she spoke, her mother hopped over and filled her up with tea, before nudging her over toward Christine.  
"Slowly now, Elisabeth," she warned. "Don't spill tea. Or secrets."

Christine smiled despite herself as she picked up the teacup.  
She was so obviously a little girl, yet somehow she was trapped in the form of a teacup.  
 _'How sad it must be,'_ Christine mused, _'to be a little girl, yet not be able to do little-girl things...'_

As if sensing what the redhead was thinking, Elisabeth asked, "Want to see me do a trick?"  
Christine nodded, and Elisabeth took a deep breath.  
Then she started to blow bubbles.  
The tea splish-splashed inside her cup, making Christine laugh.  
The sound echoed nicely through the room, and Madame Giry smiled.

"That was a very brave thing you did for your father, dearie," she remarked.  
"We all think so," La Esmeralda said, nodding in agreement.  
Christine's smile faded at the mention of her father.  
"I'm so worried about him," she said softly.  
"He's never been alone."

"Cheer up, my dear," Madame Giry said, trying to get back some of the earlier levity.  
"Things will turn out alright in the end, you'll see. Now come on, you'll feel a lot better after dinner!"  
Christine looked at the teapot and cocked her head.  
"But you heard what he said! 'If she doesn't eat with me, then she doesn't eat at all!'" the redhead mimicked, making her voice sound as cold and ominous as possible.

Madame Giry rolled her eyes in exasperation as she fought back a groan.  
The master really had made a bad impression on the poor girl.  
"People say a lot of things in anger," she said. "It is our choice whether or not to listen."  
As she spoke, she turned the serving trolley toward the door and began to leave.  
Turning to look back at Christine, Madame Giry smiled.  
"Coming, poppety?"

Christine watched as the teapot disappeared out the door.  
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast that morning.  
 _'Fine,'_ she relented slightly, ' _I'll go and have dinner._  
 _But just this one meal. Then I am leaving...once and for all.'_

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Sixteen...


	16. Be Our Guest!

Chapter Sixteen: Be Our Guest!

The kitchen staff was ready.  
André had seen to it as soon as Madame Giry had left to speak with Christine.  
He knew that it was only a matter of time before the motherly teapot convinced the stubborn girl to come down for a quick bite.

But André had no intention of this being any small, quick bite.  
 _This_ meal was going to be one that Christine would remember forever!  
It would involve the tastiest of hors d'oeuvres, the most delicious of entrees, the most delightful of drinks and, of course, the most decadent of desserts.  
By the time the girl put down her fork, she would never wish to leave!  
At least, that was what André _hoped_ would happen.

Bursting into the kitchen, he clasped two of his candles together.  
"They're coming!" he announced excitedly.  
"Final checks, everyone, tout de suite!"  
With pleasure, he watched as every member of the kitchen staff sprang into action.  
They all knew just how important this dinner was.  
All of them, that is, except apparently Firmin.

"No, you don't!" the clock said, shuffling into the middle of the fray.  
He folded his two little arms across his gears stubbornly.  
"If the master finds out you violated his orders and fed her, he will blame me."

André turned and stared incredulously at his friend.  
How could Firmin be thinking of himself at a time like this?  
Then he sighed.  
Making his way over, he nodded.  
"Yes," he said, his tone teasing but his intent deadly serious.  
"I will make sure of it. But did you see her stand up to him?  
I am telling you, this girl is the one!  
They must fall in love if we are to be human again, and how can they fall in love if she stays in her room?"  
"André, you old fool, get your head out of the clouds, that is never going to happen!" Firmin moaned tiredly.  
"A broken clock is right two times a day, _mon ami_ " André replied, refusing to let the stuffy majordomo get him down, "and this is not one of those times. We must try."

Turning away from Firmin, he moved over to Chef Potts.  
Pots and pans bubbled and steamed on the stove, filling the air with a tantalizing smell.  
Behind him, André could feel Firmin's eyes on him, and he knew that the majordomo was struggling.  
André didn't blame him.  
He was right.  
The master would think this was all Firmin's doing if he found out.  
But they had no other choice.  
After all, it wasn't every day a girl stumbled upon the enchanted castle - and a girl with the strength to stand up to the master, at that.  
No, André thought, shaking his head and straightening his candles with resolve.  
This dinner was going to happen, with or without Firmin's blessing.

Finally, the clock sighed wearily.  
"At least keep it down," Firmin requested, his voice soft.  
A wide smile spread across André's face, but he wiped it away before turning to his friend and nodding.  
"Of course, of course!" he said happily.  
"But what is dinner, without a little...music?"  
"Music?" Firmin cried, his voice no longer quiet as he began shaking his head frantically.

But it was too late.  
André was already guiding a harpsichord into the dining room.  
"Maestro Reyer," he said as he set him up in a corner of the room, "your wife is upstairs, sleeping more and more each day. She is counting on you to help the master and this girl fall in love."  
With a flourish, the harpsichord played a scale, grimacing as one of the notes fell flat.  
"Then I shall play through the pain!" he said bravely.

At that moment, Madame Giry led Christine into the dining room.  
The girl looked around, awed by the elaborate spread set out on the table, but clearly still hesitant to be there.  
André saw the uneasiness in her eyes, and his resolve to make her comfortable grew stronger.  
He gave the staff one last knowing look, and then, with a flourish, he leapt onto the table.

" _Ma chère_ _mademoiselle_ ," he began, bowing, as a beam of moonlight streamed through the window, making it appear as though the candelabra was in the spotlight.  
"It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight!  
We invite you to relax, let us pull up a chair" - he nodded and the chair behind Christine moved in so that she sat, with a little squeak of surprise, and was pushed in to the table - "as the dining room proudly presents...your dinner!"

At first, Christine sat with her hands tightly clenched underneath the table as André guided her, course by course, through her meal.  
But as she listened to him describe the food and watched as the enchanted silverware and dishware made a show and dance, she began to relax.  
Her hands unclenched the napkin she was holding and her foot tapped to the rhythm of the harpsichord.  
By the time André referred to the "gray stuff" as delicious, Christine was smiling.  
She looked around at the plates and plates of food that seemed to multiply before her very eyes, her stomach growling nearly as loudly as the harpsichord was playing.

While André and the other staff continued to entertain her, Christine proceeded to eat to her heart's content.  
She tasted beef ragout and cheese soufflé.  
She dipped a freshly baked baguette in foie gras and sighed with pleasure as the food melted on her tongue.  
Each dish presented was better than the last, and every time Christine thought she couldn't possibly eat another bite, a new platter presented itself and she found room.

Throughout it all, the music played, as wonderful as the food itself.  
By the time the meal was over, Christine was enchanted.  
It was hard not to be when all the servants seemed so happy to have her there, so pleased to be working.  
It occured to her that with a situation like theirs, they might have been lonely and perhaps even a little bored.  
Judging from the amount of enthusiasm that they had shown at her arrival, she didn't think they received very many guests.

Pushing herself away from the table, Christine thanked everyone and said her goodnights.  
Then she followed Madame Giry out of the room.  
After the warmth and frivolity of the meal, the rest of the castle now seemed so much colder and darker."I don't understand why you're all being so kind to me," Christine said, giving voice to a thought that had been in the back of her mind since she had met André, Firmin and Madame Giry.  
Riding atop her serving cart, the teapot smiled gently.  
"You deserve nothing less, my dear," she said in a sweet, motherly tone.  
"But you're just as trapped here as I am!" the redhead pointed out.  
"Don't you ever want to escape?"  
Madame Giry didn't respond right away.  
"The master's not as terrible as he appears," she finally said.  
"Somewhere deep in his soul, there's a prince just waiting to be set free..."  
Christine cocked her head curiously.  
The words _"_ _prince"_ and _"free"_ sounded like pieces to the puzzle she was trying to put together."André mentioned something about the West Wing..." she went on, hoping to get a bit more information out of the kind teapot.

But Madame Giry wasn't falling for it.  
"Oh, never you mind about that, lamb," she said as they reached the bottom of the stairs that led up to Christine's room.  
"Now off to bed before the sun starts peeking through the trees! Can I get you anything else, dearie?"  
"Oh no, you've already done so much," Christine said gratefully.  
"Thank you, though. Goodnight!"  
"Nighty-night, love!" Madame Giry replied as her serving cart turned and headed back toward the kitchen.

Christine watched, her hand on the railing, until both the trolley and Madame Giry had disappeared from view.  
Then, the redhead glanced up the stairs in front of her.  
She began to climb, her mind whirling.  
Christine knew that this was her chance to get back to her room and make her escape, yet something was stopping her.  
She paused on the stairs' landing.  
If she went to the left, she would get back to her room and, perhaps, freedom.  
But if she went right...  
The redhead gazed up the set of stairs that surely led toward the West Wing.

Her mind made up, Christine took a deep breath.  
Then she turned right.  
She still had a little time before sunrise.  
She would just take a little peek in the West Wing.  
After all, what harm could come from a quick look?

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Seventeen...


	17. Exploring The West Wing

Chapter Seventeen: Exploring The West Wing

Christine was beginning to think that she had made a very big mistake.  
While her wing of the castle wasn't exactly bright and colorful, it was a breath of fresh air in comparison with the West Wing.  
As she walked down the long corridor, her eyes widened.  
The place _felt_ lonely.  
And it looked downright depressing.

The walls were bare, though it was clear from the empty picture hooks that still hung that that hadn't always been the case.  
The rug beneath her feet was faded and worn.  
Even the air was heavier, somehow.

Christine was on the verge of turning around when she saw light at the end of the hall.  
A door had been left slightly ajar and through it, Christine could just make out what looked to be a huge suite.  
Her curiosity stronger than her fear, Christine walked forward and slowly pushed open the door.

Instantly, she wished she hadn't.  
If the hallway had been unnerving, this room was ten times more so.  
Everywhere she looked, she could see evidence of its occupant's temper.  
Curtains hung in tatters from their rods.  
Vases that must once have been beautiful lay shattered on the floor.  
And every mirror in the room had been smashed.

Christine turned and gasped as she found herself staring at a pair of breathtaking emerald-green irises.  
For one long, tense moment, she thought someone was staring right back at her...until she realized that the eyes belonged to a boy captured in what was clearly a royal portrait.  
Her heart thudding wildly, Christine leaned forward.  
The boy's face had been slashed beyond recognition, that part of the canvas in shreds.  
But the eyes had been left untouched.  
Christine leaned closer.  
They looked so familiar, like something from a dream...or a dream of a dream...

Madame Giry's words came back to her.  
 _'A prince...'_ she had said.  
This must have been the prince she was referring to.  
Christine glanced again at the portrait, looking for clues to the past.  
There were two other people in the portrait, a handsome king and a beautiful queen.  
And although the woman's image, which included kind eyes full of laughter and love, was still pristine, the king's cold, distant stare had been slashed as well.  
Christine wondered what the boy in the portrait must have been like, what _anyone_ would have been like, growing up with parents such as those, inside these castle walls.

As Christine dragged her eyes away from the portrait and stamped down the odd feeling of melancholy that was once again forming in the pit of her stomach, her attention was drawn to the far end of the room.  
Huge doors had been left open, revealing a large stone balcony on the other side.  
But it was what was in front of the doors that caught her interest.  
Amid the chaos and destruction of the room, the table would have stood out just based on the fact that it was still upright.  
But it especially caught her eye because of the large glass jar that sat on its surface.

The jar was made of delicate glass, blown so thin that it seemed as though it could break with the slightest of touches.  
Intricate patterns had been etched into the jar's side, looking like frost on a windowpane.  
And inside, floating as if by magic, was a beautiful red rose.  
It glowed, the color rivaling that of the most beautiful sunset that Christine had ever seen.

As if in a trance, Christine made her way to the table.  
Slowly, she reached her hand toward the jar.  
Christine's fingers tingled, unable to resist the sudden rush of desire to lift the bell jar and touch the rose's silky petals.  
Her fingers inched closer...closer still...almost there...

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Eighteen...


	18. Caught!

Chapter Eighteen: Caught!

"What are you doing here?" the Voice roared at Christine, shocking her out of her trancelike state.  
He appeared out of the shadows like a wraith, amber eyes blazing with barely-controlled rage behind the black silk mask that hid his face from view.

He glanced over at the glowing rose and the fire in his eyes intensified.  
 _"What did you do to it?"  
_ The redhead quickly backed away from the table.  
"No-not-nothing," she stammered, her heart thudding frantically in her chest.

The masked figure kept coming toward her.  
"Do you realize what you could have done?" he snarled.  
"You could have damned us all!"  
"I'm sorry..." Christine gasped.

Suddenly, there was a terrible cracking sound and one of the thin columns that accented the balcony began to crumble, pieces shattering and falling close to the glass bell jar holding the rose.  
Panic filled the masked man's eyes.  
Not looking back at Christine, he threw his body over the rose, desperate to protect it.  
 _"Get out!"_ he roared over his shoulder.

Christine didn't need to be told twice.  
Turning, she fled back the way she had come.  
She ran through the room and out the open door, then she raced down the long hallway and the even longer stairs.  
She barely registered the shocked faces of André and Firmin as she passed them on the landing, and when they asked her where she was going, she didn't even pause.  
"Getting out of here!" she cried over her shoulder, and kept running.

Because that was exactly what she was going to do - get out.  
It was what she _should_ have done already.  
But she had been distracted by André and his dinner entertainment, and then the castle mystery had lured her in further...  
But she was done with all of that now.  
She was going to get out of this place, with its talking dishware and enchanted candles and clocks, and get back to her father.  
No matter what.

Unfortunately, the castle didn't want to see Christine leave just yet.  
Hitting the bottom of the grand staircase, she ran straight toward the front door.  
To her dismay, however, the door seemed to see her coming, and before she could reach it, the bolt slid shut.  
Chapeau, the tall coatrack, slid in front of the door a moment later, blocking Christine's exit.

Christine's pace slowed.  
What was she going to do now?  
She didn't know the castle well enough to go running through it blindly in search of another exit.  
Then, just as she was about to give up hope, she heard the sound of a dog barking.  
Turning, she saw Fifi, the bichon frise turned harpsichord bench, who had free run of the castle.  
She barked wildly as she gave chase and for a brief moment, the redhead was worried that she was going to pounce on her.

But to Christine's surprise, she ran right past her and scooted through a smaller door that was built into the much larger main door.  
The redhead almost cried from relief.  
Her way out hadn't been completely blocked after all!  
Once again picking up her pace, she shimmied through the smaller door, but not before grabbing her cloak from a befuddled Chapeau.  
Behind her, Christine heard Madame Giry's tea tray rolling across the floor and André shouting.  
Still, she kept running.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Nineteen...


	19. Flight & Fight

Chapter Nineteen: Flight & Fight

It didn't take Christine long to find Étoile.  
The mare had made herself quite comfortable in one of the stable's roomy stalls.  
Hearing the redhead's footsteps on the cobblestones, she looked up mid-mouthful of hay and cocked her head as if to ask, " _What are you doing here?"_

Throwing the saddle over her back, Christine didn't respond.  
She pulled the mare out of the stall instead and quickly mounted.  
Then the redhead gave Étoile's sides a kick.  
The mare didn't hesitate.  
She broke into a canter and headed toward the castle's gate.

Moments later, they were safely through the gate and back in the woods that surrounded the castle.  
But it didn't take long for Christine to realize that she had just traded one terrifying situation for another.  
As Étoile cantered along, the redhead caught glimpses of shadows out of the corners of her eyes.  
They gradually grew larger and more clear, and by the time Christine heard the first howl, she already knew that she and Étoile were being followed by a pack of wolves.

Urging Étoile on, Christine tried not to panic.  
Étoile was a small, dainty horse with extremely light hooves, and could run quite fast when the situation called for it.  
If they could just get close enough to the village, she was sure that the wolves would be frightened away by the signs of civilization.  
As long as they didn't run into any obstacles before then, they should be alright.

And then Étoile ran right out onto a frozen pond.  
Beneath her hooves, the ice groaned.  
Christine leaned over and saw cracks begin to appear.  
Small at first, they grew larger as the mare slipped and slid across the frozen surface.  
Shouting encouragement, Christine tried to calm Étoile, who was growing more and more panicked as the ice began to give out beneath them and the wolves closed in from behind.  
Christine felt the mare's haunches bunch beneath her and the redhead grabbed a fistful of her mane.  
Then...Étoile leapt.

Christine's breath caught in her throat as they hung suspended in the air for a moment, before Étoile's front hooves landed on the pond's edge.  
A moment later, her back hooves followed.  
But the cry of relief that Christine wanted to let out got caught in her throat as the first of the wolves, seeing its chance, attacked.

One wolf's large jaws snapped as it went after Étoile's back leg.  
A moment later, another wolf joined in.  
Étoile kicked out and bucked wildly, trying to defend both herself and her rider.

On her back, Christine clung to the mare's mane desperately, but Étoile's frantic movements were just too strong.  
As her hind legs once again flew into the air, the redhead was knocked out of the saddle and went flying headfirst into a nearby tree.  
As she slid painfully to the ground, Christine moaned weakly, her head feeling like it was splitting open.  
Unable to do more than just lie there and wait for death to take her, she closed her eyes.

But then she heard a yelp, followed by a dull thud.  
Confused as to why she wasn't dead yet, she opened her eyes to see a tall masked figure in a black velvet cloak expertly wielding a thin piece of rope.  
Two wolves already lay dead in the snow, their necks clearly broken.  
Then her eyes fell closed once more as she passed out.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty...


	20. The Search

Chapter Twenty: The Search

"Listen! Wolves! We must be close to the haunted castle!"  
Sitting in the back of his carriage, Raoul was startled by Gustave's shout.  
The two men had been making their way through the forest for quite some time, and while it wasn't exactly picturesque, it wasn't nearly as menacing as Gustave's wild tavern tale had led Raoul to believe.

"Monsieur Daaé, really enough is enough!" Raoul insisted, turning to look at the older man.  
The carriage ride had made his already-windblown white hair look even more disheveled and his eyes were whipping back and forth as he gazed around at the forest desperately.  
"We have to turn back," Raoul added, not sure that Gustave had even heard a word he'd said.  
But apparently he had, because he quickly shook his head.  
"No, look!" Gustave pointed up ahead.

Following the old man's finger, Raoul saw a tree on the side of the road.  
It was withered, its branches bent at odd angles and its trunk smooth with age.  
Over the course of their journey, Gustave had been telling him all about how he had first found the enchanted castle.  
He had mentioned something about a tree that looked like a cane and a fork in the road...

Cocking his head to the side, Raoul narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  
It _sort of_ looked cane-like, but there was definitely no fork behind it.  
Just a bunch of overgrown brambles.

"This is the tree!" Gustave exclaimed, as if sensing Raoul's doubt.  
"I'm sure of it! Of course, it was downed by lightning at the time, but now it's been restored to an upright position.  
By magic, it seems..."

Raoul rolled his eyes in exasperation.  
 _'Do I really want to marry into this family?'_ he mused internally.  
He had had quite enough of this nonsense.  
He had let Gustave lead him out there with the sole intention of blackmailing him into giving Raoul Christine's hand in marriage, but if they couldn't find her, what was the point?

"I'm done playing this game of yours!" Raoul snapped, stopping the carriage.  
"Where is Christine?"  
"The monster took her!" Gustave insisted yet again.  
Raoul's eyes narrowed.  
He was trying very hard not to lose his temper, but the old man was making it exceedingly difficult.  
"There are no such things as magic or monsters or talking teacups or...or...whatever!  
But there _are_ wolves, frostbite and starvation!"

"You think I've made all of this up?" Gustave asked indignantly, seemingly unaware of just how close Raoul was to breaking.  
He looked up at the younger man in confusion.  
"Well if you didn't believe me, then why did you offer to help?"  
"Because I want to marry your daughter!" Raoul burst out in frustration, making no further attempts to hide his plan.  
"I already told you! She's not at home, she's with the..."  
Rage flooded over Raoul and he erupted.  
"If you say 'monster' one more time, I will feed you to the wolves!" he screamed, all composure gone.  
He stalked over to Gustave and raised his fists.  
But Gustave stood firm.  
"You will never marry my daughter..." he vowed firmly.

That was the last straw.  
Raoul pulled back and hit Gustave, hard.  
The old man instantly sagged to the ground, unconscious.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty-One...


	21. Recovering

Chapter Twenty-One: Recovering

Pain.  
That was the first thing that Christine was aware of as she slowly drifted back into consciousness.  
Every bone in her body ached.  
Her head felt like it had been cleaved in two with a butcher's knife.  
She could feel something cool and wet lying across her forehead.

She tried to open her eyes, but they seemed to be glued shut.  
After what seemed like forever, she managed to squint one eye open the tiniest crack and immediately wished she hadn't.  
Groaning weakly, she slumped further down into the sheets as the lights assaulted her sensitive eyes and made her sore head pound worse.

Trying desperately to keep from passing out again, the redhead was startled to feel a gloved hand against her forehead.  
Opening her eyes again, she saw her masked savior sitting in a chair by her bed, his yellow eyes filled with some strange emotion that she couldn't identify.  
Confused, Christine opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the man had pulled an unknown vial out of the pocket of his waistcoat and was holding it to her lips.

Swallowing obediently, she was pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted of lavender and chamomile, a herbal combination she had used many times as a girl when she couldn't sleep or after suffering from nightmares.  
And yet, there was something else too, something that she couldn't place...  
The effects were immediate, and Christine quickly found herself drifting off, falling into a haze of feverish dreams.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty-Two...


	22. Journey To The Past

Chapter Twenty-Two: Journey To The Past

 _Christine was just seven years old, and already the small girl felt like her world was shattering around her.  
Maman had been sick for months now and Papa had only just now been able to afford to pay for a doctor.  
Christine didn't know what was wrong with Maman, but she knew it was bad.  
In the other room, she could hear Papa and the doctor talking.  
The word 'Plague' reached her ears, and that was when she stopped listening and ran back to her tiny room, crawling into bed and burying herself underneath the covers._

 _No! No! No!  
Maman couldn't have the Plague!  
She just couldn't!  
It had to be a mistake!  
Or maybe this was all a bad dream and Christine would wake up in the morning and everything would be fine!_

 _Yes, that was it!  
She was just dreaming!  
She had to be!_

 _Pinching herself as hard as she could, Christine cried out in pain, her blue eyes welling up with tears.  
It wasn't supposed to hurt!  
If it hurt, then that meant that this was real and she didn't want this to be real!  
She wanted things to go back to the way they were before, before Maman got that awful illness! _

_"Maman..." the young girl hiccupped, tears streaming down her cheeks._

 _Christine heard footsteps outside her room and looked up as her door opened and Papa stepped inside.  
She took one look at the expression on his face and began to shake her head in denial.  
"No..." she begged desperately.  
Her father just nodded and Christine burst into tears._

 _"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! MAMAN!"_

Erik watched as Christine writhed and twisted in her sleep, her face filled with agony as she repeatedly cried out for her mother, begging for her not to leave and to come back.  
What in Heaven's name was the girl dreaming about that would cause her so much grief?  
And more importantly, why did he even care?

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty-Three...


	23. Days In The Sun

Chapter Twenty-Three: Days In The Sun

It had been five days since her masked host had saved her from the wolves and Christine's head was finally on the mend.  
Glancing over at the slumbering figure in the chair next to her bed, she realized that she didn't even know his name.  
Biting her lip guiltily, she wondered why she'd never thought to ask before.

"This is the first time I've seen the master sleep all week!" a voice exclaimed in surprise, causing Christine to flinch in shock.  
But then she saw that it was only Madame Giry and relaxed visibly.  
"Why do you care so much about him?" the question was out of her mouth before she could think to stop herself.  
"We've looked after him all his life!" Madame Giry answered calmly.  
"But he has cursed you somehow," Christine said, confused as to how such an ill-tempered creature could have inspired such loyalty.  
When the teapot didn't respond, she pressed on determinedly.  
"Why? You did nothing."

Her masked host's cry from when she'd almost touched the glowing rose echoed in her ears.  
 _"You could have damned us all!"  
_ The castle was clearly under some sort of spell.  
And she couldn't imagine that any of the castle's staff were responsible for their state...

"You're quite right there, dear!" Madame Giry admitted guiltily.  
"You see, when the master lost his mother, and his cruel father took that sweet, innocent child and twisted him up to be just like him...we did nothing."  
The words poured from Madame Giry, as if she had been waiting to tell their story for a long time.

She painted a sad picture of a young boy who had loved his mother with all his heart.  
Back then, Madame Giry told Christine, the castle had been a different place.  
It had been full of laughter and love, sunshine and innocence.

And then the boy's mother, _her host's_ mother, Christine clarified in her head, had grown ill.  
The redhead's eyes grew wide as Madame Giry explained that the boy had stayed by his mother's bedside day and night, watching as she faded away.  
He had begged the doctors to help her, but they just shook their heads and offered up false promises.

After the boy's mother had passed, nothing was ever the same again.  
The father was a cold, heartless man who tore the sunshine from his son and buried it deep down.  
As time had passed, all traces of happiness were taken from the castle, replaced with darkness and a sense of hopelessness - even before the curse.

Madame Giry's voice trailed off and Christine remembered the glass jar with the glowing rose, dried crimson petals gathered beneath it.  
"What happens when the last petal falls?" she asked, afraid that she already knew the answer.  
"The curse becomes permanent," Madame Giry replied as she turned around on her trolley.

"Madame," Christine started hesitantly, glancing back at her sleeping host.  
"I was wondering what his name is?"  
The teapot smirked slightly.  
"Ah yes, dearie, I was wondering when you were going to be asking that..."  
She rolled toward the door before pausing.  
"Erik, my dear. His name is Erik."  
Then she was gone.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty-Four...


	24. Rescued

Chapter Twenty-Four: Rescued

Gustave groaned weakly as he came back into consciousness.  
Hearing footsteps, he opened his eyes to see Vivienne, the mysterious, outcast beggar woman standing right in front of him.  
"V-Vivienne?" he spluttered in astonishment.  
The middle-aged woman didn't say anything, but just knelt down beside him and took his hands, squeezing them gently.  
Immediately, Gustave felt warmth returning to his frozen limbs.  
He opened his mouth to thank her, but before he could manage to get a word out, she placed the palm of her hand on his forehead and he felt himself drifting off.

A short while later, Gustave woke to find himself lying in the center of a small, makeshift camp.  
"Drink," Vivienne said shortly, holding a steaming mug of broth to his lips.  
Gustave obediently swallowed and his mind cleared.  
"Thank you, Vivienne..." he sighed in relief.  
Glancing around at his surroundings, he was startled to see Alexandré just a few feet away, tied securely to a nearby tree.  
He was grateful that his horse was alright, but Gustave couldn't help but wonder what was to become of him now...  
And he still had Christine to worry about too...

Had she found a way to escape yet?  
Or was she still locked up in that horrible tower?  
Were they at least treating her kindly?  
Questions and what-if's continued to plague his mind as Gustave fell into an uneasy sleep.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty-Five...


	25. Oh, Isn't This Amazing?

Chapter Twenty-Five: Oh, Isn't This Amazing?

It had now been a full week since Erik had saved Christine from the wolves and she was finally well enough to get out of bed.  
Gazing out her window, some of her favorite lines from one of her favorite works, _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ , drifted across the forefront of her mind.  
 _"Love can transpose to form and dignity,"_ the redhead recited softly.  
 _"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind."  
_ To her surprise, Erik's smooth tones joined hers and they finished the verse in unison.  
 _"And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."_

Christine looked over, eyes wide.  
She hadn't even heard him come in!  
"You know Shakespeare?" she asked.

She knew her voice was filled with disbelief and she blushed.  
After what Madame Giry had told her, she now knew that Erik had once been a prince.  
Still, she couldn't quite wrap her head around the fact that the masked man in front of her seemed to have more class than a great majority of those who lived in her village.

Erik shrugged.  
"I had an expensive education," he replied.  
There was an awkward pause.  
"Actually, _Romeo and Juliet_ is my favorite play," Christine finally admitted.  
"Why is that not a surprise?" Erik rolled his eyes behind the mask.  
"I beg your pardon?" Christine's jaw dropped in mock outrage.  
"All that heartache and pining and..." Erik shuddered dramatically.  
"There are so many better things to read!"  
"Like _what_?" the redhead demanded, arching an eyebrow.  
She crossed her arms, the challenge thrown down.

Erik smirked.  
"Allow me, mademoiselle!" he purred, bowing and placing a delicate kiss on the back of her hand.  
Then he grabbed hold of her hand and led her out of the room.

By the time they made it down the East Wing's long hallway, turned several corners, and climbed one smaller staircase, Christine was nearly bubbling over with curiosity.  
Erik had not said a word or given a hint as to where they were going.  
He just walked slowly, pausing every now and then as to allow Christine to catch her breath.  
Finally, they came to a stop in front of a pair of grand doors, which soared at least two stories high and were intricately carved with reliefs depicting various scenes.  
Standing next to Erik, Christine tried to make out some of the larger ones, but before she could, Erik pushed open the doors.  
"There are a couple of things in here you can start with," he said, smirking slightly.  
The redhead gasped.

In front of her was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.  
It was a library.  
But this was not just any library.  
This had to be the biggest, grandest library in all of France!

The ceiling soared above her, shelves full of books going all the way to the very top.  
A massive fireplace dominated one wall and even on the mantel, books were displayed.  
On another wall, a large window let in plenty of light to read by, but even still, candles were lit throughout the chamber.  
Despite its immense size, the room was cozy and comfortable.  
Christine looked around at the multitude of deep-cushioned chairs and imagined how peaceful it would be to curl up in one with a book in hand.

"Are you alright?" Erik asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.  
Christine imagined she looked like a fish gaping in water for how shocked and awestruck she felt.  
She turned and smiled up at him.  
It's wonderful!" she said, knowing that wasn't grand enough a response for a room as such as this.  
"Why yes, I suppose it is," Erik said thoughtfully, as though noticing this for the first time.  
"Well then, it's yours!"  
He bowed and turned to leave.

Christine's voice stopped him.  
Her neck was craned back as she looked to the shelves at the very top of the room.  
"Have you read every one of these books?"  
"Not all of them," Erik replied.  
"Some of them are in Greek!"  
Christine's mouth dropped open.  
"Was that a joke?" she demanded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.  
"Are you making jokes now?"  
Erik tried in vain to hide his smirk as he replied, "Maybe..."

Without another word, he turned and left.  
Christine remained where she was, shaking her head as he made his exit.  
What had just happened?

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty-Six...


	26. Something There

Chapter Twenty-Six: Something There

As the days passed, Christine found more and more reason to ask herself that same question.  
Instead of what _had_ happened, however, it quickly became what _was_ happening?  
Because there was no denying it.  
Something had changed between Erik and Christine.  
She wasn't sure if it had started that night when he'd saved her from the wolves...or perhaps it had been the afternoon he'd shared the library with her and she'd first seen the softer side of him?  
It might have been somewhere in between when Madame Giry had told her the story of his childhood.

Still, _when_ it had happened didn't matter.  
What mattered, was the simple truth that there was a spark of something between them that hadn't been there before.  
Something that made the days at the castle feel less like a prison sentence and more like fun.  
And Erik had become less like her captor and more of a friend.

Christine no longer snuck down to the kitchen to get her meals.  
Instead, she and Erik shared the dining room table - he at one end, she at the other.  
Sometimes they would each bring a book and read at the table in companionable silence.  
At other meals, they would talk about their other interests.  
Erik had a great passion for music and architecture, while Christine adored art in all of its many forms.  
And both of them loved roses.

Meals, books and flowers, however, were not the only things they shared.  
When the weather permitted, Christine would join him outside as he showed her around the grounds, or they would walk Étoile.  
And even when the weather wasn't perfect, they still found ways to enjoy themselves outside the castle walls.  
Snowy days led to snowball fights and sunny days led to picnics.

Christine even encouraged Erik to help her and the staff clean up the castle - the two of them scrubbing the floors until the old, gleaming marble shone through, wiping the years of grime off the windows until they saw sparkling sunlight.  
They transformed the West Wing, removing the shattered columns and debris and replacing the tattered curtains.

With each moment and adventure they shared, Christine grew more and more comfortable around Erik.  
She saw the kindness in his eyes when he looked at her.  
She heard his intelligence when they debated literature.  
And she saw the pride he had in his home when he looked around.

 _"I'm seeing the man inside the monster,"_ she wrote one afternoon in a diary she'd started keeping.  
If her current experiences didn't warrant a journal, the redhead didn't know what did.  
 _"I'm finally seeing what Madame Giry and André and Firmin_ _and all the others have seen all along...  
_

 _And yet I can't help but wonder what he hides behind his mask?  
What could be so terrible as to make him want to hide himself away from the world for fifteen years?  
Obviously the staff couldn't have gone anywhere, but Erik hadn't been turned into an object...  
Would it really have been that difficult for him to go out and socialize for just a few short hours?"  
_

Closing the pages, Christine stood up and went over to the window of her elegant room.  
Outside, the last of the day's light was fading.  
A nearly full moon was beginning to peek over the horizon, illuminating the snowy gardens below in a pale, ethereal glow.

Looking out, Christine was struck once more by the beauty of the castle.  
Ever since her friendship with Erik had grown stronger and they had made the effort to return to the castle to its former glory, the whole castle had become brighter and cheerier right before her very eyes.  
She saw the beauty in the lines of the stone that made up the castle walls and appreciated the towering turrets.  
It may not have been the quaint and picturesque architecture of Brocéliande, but it was still absolutely enchanting.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty-Seven...


	27. Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Betrayal

Raoul was growing restless.  
He had spent the last two weeks doing what he normally did - charming the village girls.  
But he couldn't stop wondering when Christine would finally return.  
Gustave was no doubt long gone.  
He wasn't going to return to bother Raoul, and when Christine came back from wherever it was she'd run off to, the path to their marriage would be clear.  
'Yes, everything is all working out perfectly,' Raoul thought to himself as he made his way toward the tavern for his evening dose of adoration and grog.  
However when he swung open the tavern doors, he was met with quite the unexpected sight.

Gustave Daaé was surrounded by the usual tavern-goers, including Armand the cobbler and Father Mansart.  
Other than a red nose, he seemed no worse for the wear, and it was clear from the daggers that the villagers were shooting at Raoul that he had felt well enough after his ordeal to tell them all about what had happened.  
"Vicomte," Armand said, his voice serious.  
"Did you try to kill Gustave?"

Taking a quick glance around the room, Raoul knew he had very few options.  
He could admit to it, but he'd really rather not.  
Or he could go with his usual answer - deny, deny, deny.

Plastering a warm smile on his face, he walked quickly to Gustave, who had his arms crossed.  
"Oh, Monsieur Daaé," he began.  
"Thank heavens! I've spent the past two weeks trying to find you! What were you thinking, running off into the forest in your condition?"

As his words bounced around the room, the villagers who had gathered shuffled, unsure of who to believe.  
"What?" Gustave sputtered, shaking his head in disbelief.  
"No, you tried to kill me! You left me for the wolves!"

Raoul put a hand to his chest, as though Gustave's words had physically hurt him.  
"Wolves? What are you talking about?" he asked.  
He looked at the villagers and rolled his eyes, as if to say, _"Are we really going back down this road again? Are you really going to believe him over me?"  
_ He tried not to smile smugly when the majority of them returned his eye roll.

"The wolves near the monster's castle!" Gustave answered, his voice rising and adding to his manic appearance.  
"That's right," Raoul said condescendingly.  
"There's a monster with a castle full of talking objects that somehow none of us have ever seen?"

Gustave hesitated.  
Looking around the room, he saw that everyone was waiting for his answer.  
"Well...yes," he finally said.

Raoul now had Gustave and everyone else right where he wanted them.  
Slowly, he shook his head.  
"It's one thing to rave about your delusions, my friend," he chided.  
"It's another to accuse me, a nobleman, of attempted murder."

To his surprise, it was Father Mansart, not Gustave, who spoke up.  
The priest stepped in front of Gustave defensively.  
Then he looked at the gathered crowd.  
"Listen to me, all of you!" he pleaded.  
"This is Gustave, our neighbor. Our friend. He is a good man."

Raoul tried not to smile.  
He could not have set the situation up for the final blow better if he had tried.  
"Are you suggesting that I am not?" he asked, sounding offended.  
Who is it that makes sure you and your families don't starve to death during the winter months?"

His words, like an arrow shot from a hunter's bow, struck home.  
The villagers murmured to each other, their growing doubt in Gustave clear.  
"Gustave," Armand the cobbler said, turning to look at the old man.  
"Do you have any proof of what you're saying?"  
"Ask Vivienne!" he replied, desperately trying to keep the room with him.  
"She rescued me!"  
Turning, he pointed to the far corner of the tavern where the old beggar woman had been watching everything silently.  
Feeling everyone's eyes on her, Vivienne cowered and pulled her tattered hood tighter around her face.  
Raoul raised an eyebrow.  
"You'd hang your accusations on the testimony of a filthy beggar woman?" he laughed in derision.

Realizing that that might not have been the best of moves, Gustave's face fell and a smirk tugged at the corners of Raoul's mouth.  
He had won.  
"Monsieur Daaé, it pains me to say this," he said smoothly, "but you've become a danger to yourself and to others. You need help, my friend. A place to heal your troubled mind..."  
He walked over and placed one hand on Gustave's shoulder, squeezing hard.  
"Everything's going to be fine."  
But while his words were nice, his tone was as cold as ice.

Gustave gulped.  
He knew, without a doubt, that nothing was going to be fine.  
Nothing at all.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty-Eight...


	28. Racing Against The Clock

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Racing Against The Clock

Inside the castle, Erik was having similar thoughts.  
Time was running out and he was not even remotely sure that things would be all right.  
And clearly he wasn't the only one.  
While he had hoped to get ready for that evening alone, an audience had gathered - an audience with an opinion.

"This is it, Your Grace!" Madame Giry spoke up as she entered the West Wing.  
Erik was in the large bathroom, immersed in a huge tub of soapy hot water.  
"Now or never."  
"The clock is ticking," Firmin said gravely.  
"The rose only has four petals left," André added seriously - for once.  
"Which means tonight...you _must_ tell her how you feel!"

Erik sighed.  
He knew that his staff was just trying to help.  
Nothing they were saying was a surprise.  
He _knew_ time was running out.  
He _knew_ that night was important.  
He _knew_ Christine was his only chance - the castle's only chance.  
Hearing it out loud did nothing to ease his growing anxiety.  
And he did _not_ care to admit just how anxious he was about the upcoming evening.  
He had made an offhanded comment to Christine about how beautiful the ballroom looked after all her hard work, and how they should celebrate it with a dance.  
He'd never thought she would say yes!

Erik signaled the others to give him a moment of privacy and finished his bath.  
A curtain had been drawn in front of the tub.  
He stood and wrapped a towel around his waist.  
Finally, he spoke.  
"She will never love me, André."  
"Don't worry, Master!" André reassured him cheerfully. "She is the one, I know it!"  
"There is _no_ one!" Erik ground out between clenched teeth.  
He pulled back the curtain and stepped into the light provided by André's candles.  
"Look at me!"  
His golden eyes were filled with resignation and defeat.  
"She deserves so much more..."

To the servants' credit, they didn't even cringe on seing Erik in all his skeletal glory.  
Instead, Madame Giry spoke up.  
"You care for her, don't you?"  
Erik nodded.  
He did care for Christine, more than he ever would have thought possible.  
The past few days had only solidified those feelings.  
But he was no fool.  
While he might have come to care for her, and she might have started to enjoy his company, that did not mean she loved him.  
He was still her captor, after all.  
No matter how well they got along, he was still her captor and that wasn't going to change.  
Unless, of course, she _did_ , somehow, love him, but that was highly unlikely.

André saw the doubt and fear in his master's eyes, but forged ahead, propelled by his nod.  
"Well then, woo her with beautiful music and romantic candlelight..."  
"Yes," Fleurette chimed in, "and when the moment is right, just right..."  
Erik frowned in confusion.  
"But how will I know?"  
Firmin, who until that point had been purposely keeping himself out of the conversation, cleared his throat.  
"In my experience," he said, "you will feel slightly nauseous."  
André shot him a glare, effectively silencing the clock.  
"Don't fret, master," he soothed, turning back to Erik.  
"You'll do fine. The problem was that until now, the girl could not see the real you."  
"No," Madame Giry said harshly.  
"The problem was...she _could_."

Instantly, the room grew silent.  
Tension filled the air as the staff turned and looked at the teapot.  
Some, like André, hoped to see a glint of humor in her eyes.  
Others, like Firmin, were unsurprised by her sudden announcement.  
Either way, everyone's attention finally turned to Erik, who they watched with wide eyes as Madame Giry went on.  
"For fifteen years," she continued, "we have hoped against hope that this curse would make you a better man.  
But you have remained angry and selfish and cruel, and we are all running out of time.  
And there is one more thing that your servants have been too afraid to tell you."

"What?" Erik asked.  
He was surprised to discover that he feared her answer.  
Was she going to tell him exactly how hated he was?  
Was she going to tell him just how miserable they had been, and for how long?  
Was it possible that she was going to find a way to make him feel even worse than he already did?

"We love you," Madame Giry said simply, and Erik nearly staggered backwards in shock.  
Of all the things he had imagined she might say...  
The teapot went on.  
"Until now, we have loved you in spite of how you were.  
But ever since that girl arrived, we love you _because_ of it."  
Around her, the servants nodded in agreement.  
"So stop being a coward and tell her how you feel!" she snapped.  
"And if you don't, I can promise that you'll be drinking cold tea for the rest of your life..."  
"In the dark..." André added.  
"Covered in dust..." Fleurette chimed in.  
"Dark as a moonless night and very, very dusty..." both André and Fleurette said together.  
In silence, the staff looked up at Erik and waited for his response.

And then Erik smiled.  
Slowly at first, it spread across his face until it took over.  
And it wasn't the proud, arrogant smirk he had worn for so long, either.  
It was the smile of a man who finally felt hope.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Twenty-Nine...


	29. Tale As Old As Time

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Tale As Old As Time

As Christine stood in her room, allowing La Esmeralda to primp and pamper her, the redhead was filled with anxiety.  
Ever since she'd agreed to celebrate the restoration of the ballroom with a dance, her stomach had felt as though it were filled with butterflies.  
Now, as the moment to go downstairs grew closer, the feeling grew stronger.

Ever since Erik had saved her from the wolves, Christine had felt a serious shift in her relationship with him.  
He didn't have to go after her.  
He could have left her to die.  
But instead, he had not only saved her life, but had nursed her back to health, and then he'd even given her her very own library!

Their conversations now went far beyond books.  
Their walks in the gardens were longer, neither wanting them to end.  
Christine found herself anticipating dinner, no longer just for the scrumptious food, but also for the company.  
If she'd had a friend to talk to, she probably would have admitted that her feelings for Erik, as unlikely as it seemed, had become deeper than she had ever thought possible.  
And now she was about to go spend the evening with him, dancing in the ballroom.  
She sighed.  
How had she gotten here?

La Esmeralda gave Christine's dress one final adjustment and then turned her around so that she was facing the full-length mirror.  
The redhead gasped in amazement.

After her first day in the castle, she had been slightly hesitant to let the wardrobe dress her.  
They talked about Christine's preference for clothing without frills, for outfits that had practical elements, like hemlines that didn't drag on the floor and pockets - much to La Esmeralda's dismay.  
But slowly, La Esmeralda had begun to create ensembles that fit Christine to a tee.  
And that night, she had outdone herself.

Christine didn't even recognize the girl staring back at her with wide blue eyes.  
Her flaming red hair which was normally tied back in a tight braid had been partially plaited and then brushed out into soft, gentle curls, accenting her porcelain cheeks, which had been ever so lightly dusted with blush.  
And the dress.  
The dress was something out of Christine's wildest fantasies.  
It floated around her like a golden halo.  
With every movement she made, it shone, catching the light and casting it back into the room.  
La Esmeralda stretched out one of her drawers, and suddenly, a layer of gold dust magically drifted down from the ceiling, coating the dress and making it, if possible, even more beautiful.  
And, as an added bonus, the dress was as light as a feather, making it easy for Christine to move in it.  
Pleased with her work, La Esmeralda pushed the redhead out the door.

Christine stood still for a long moment, her heart pounding.  
" _It's just one evening,_ " she scolded herself.  
" _Stop being silly and get down those stairs._ "

Taking a deep breath, the redhead began the long walk down the hall toward the staircase.  
Reaching the top, she looked across to the top of the West Wing's stairs.  
To her surprise, Erik was standing there - clad in his best formal wear, looking just as nervous as she felt.  
Their eyes met and she saw them widen and his jaw drop slightly before he quickly regained his senses.  
They walked toward each other, meeting on the center landing.  
Christine immediately dropped into a graceful curtsy as he bowed his head and extended his arm, inviting her, without words, to join him.  
She didn't hesitate to take it.

Together, they descended the staircase.  
With each step, Chtistine's anxiety faded.  
It felt normal to be walking with Erik.  
And when he started to lead her into the dining room, it was _her_ decision to turn to the ballroom instead.

The redhead sensed his hesitation as she led him to the middle of the dance floor.  
But just as quickly as that hesitation had appeared, it disappeared as music magically began to play.  
The room had been scrubbed clean and lit with hundreds of candles so that everything glowed like the golden dress Christine wore.  
The stage was set.

And then they began to dance.  
They waltzed in perfect time, Christine's feet following Erik's automatically.  
They moved in a series of steps and delicate spins, each partner in tune with the other.  
It was as though they had been dancing for years, not minutes, and once again, the redhead was struck by how comfortable she felt around Erik.  
As Maestro Reyer reached a crescendo in the music, Erik lifted Christine so that she floated at his side, and then swept her into a thrilling dip.  
When the music finally came to an end and the ballroom fell into silence, Christine felt a strange tug of sadness that it was over.

As if sensing this, Erik did not release her hand.  
Instead, he led her out to the large terrace that circled the ballroom.  
A companionable silence fell over the pair as they both stared up at the starry sky.  
The air was crisp, as it always was around the enchanted castle, but not uncomfortable.  
Christine felt as though Erik's arms were still wrapped around her, the warmth from the ballroom somehow finding its way outside.

"I haven't danced in years," Erik said, breaking the silence.  
"I'd almost forgotten the feeling."  
He dragged his eyes from the stars and looked down at Christine.  
His gaze was full of warmth - and something else.

He shifted nervously on his feet, as though not sure whether to go on.  
Christine waited, trying to encourage him silently.  
Then he spoke again.  
"It's foolish, I suppose, for someone like me to hope that one day he might earn your affection."

Christine hesitated.  
It wasn't foolish.  
At least, a few moments ago, it hadn't seemed foolish.

"I don't know..." the redhead whispered to herself, but Erik heard and his golden eyes flared brightly with hope.  
"Really?" he asked eagerly.  
"Do you really think that you could be happy here?"

Christine bit her lip as her eyes turned dark with sorrow.  
"Can anyone be happy if they aren't free?" she asked softly.  
Erik's face fell, knowing she was right.

An image of Gustave flashed through Christine's mind.  
"Papa taught me to dance," Christine reminisced fondly.  
"I used to step on his toes a lot."  
"You must miss him," Erik said, the tone of her voice not lost on him.  
The redhead nodded silently.

Seeing the tears rise in Christine's eyes, Erik felt his heart tighten.  
He hated to see her in pain, especially when he knew there was a way he could ease it.  
"Come with me," he said, taking her hand.

Silently, he led her off the terrace and back through the ballroom.  
He didn't answer when she asked where they were going and didn't explain when he brought her into his room and lifted a small hand mirror up to her.  
All he said was, "Show me Monsieur Daaé."  
Then he handed the mirror to Christine and waited.

The face of the mirror swirled magically and within moments, Christine's reflection had been replaced by an image of Gustave.  
With growing horror, she watched her father being dragged through the village square.  
Terror was etched on his face and he was calling out for someone - anyone - to help him.  
"Papa!" she cried. "What are they doing to him?"

Erik had hoped to make Christine happy by showing her her father, but her reaction was anything but happy.  
Confused, he peered over her shoulder and his eyes widened in shock as he, too, saw what was happening to the old man.  
Pain for Christine, for what was happening to her father, overcame him.  
Then, as the redhead continued to watch her father through the mirror, Erik's gaze drifted to the rose jar.

Another petal fell and drifted downwards.

Madame Giry's words echoed in his head.  
He pictured the staff, their hopeful faces as he had finally gotten dressed for the evening.  
Then he looked back at Christine and saw the agony in her eyes.  
He knew this was a moment of choice.  
But he also knew that there was no choice to be made.  
He had to start righting the wrongdoings that he _could_ right.

"Then you must go to him," Erik said, trying to keep his own pain from his voice.  
Christine looked up.  
"What did you say?" she breathed out in shock.  
"I release you," he clarified. "You are no longer my prisoner."

Tears of gratitude and appreciation replaced her tears of sadness as Christine looked up at Erik.  
There was so much she wanted to say, so much she _needed_ to say, but she didn't know where to begin.  
She started to return the mirror, but he shook his head.  
"Keep it with you," he said, "so you'll always have a way to look back and remember me."  
"Oh, thank you!" the redhead choked out through her tears.  
 _"Thank you for everything!"_ she added silently.  
And then, before she could change her mind, Christine turned and ran.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty...


	30. Evermore

Chapter Thirty: Evermore

Erik didn't go back downstairs.  
He couldn't bear the thought of seeing the expectant, hopeful faces of his staff.  
Instead, he walked out onto the West Wing balcony, not daring to glance at the bell jar to see how many petals were left on the enchanted rose.

From there, he watched Christine race off on Étoile. heard the clanging of the castle gate as it shut behind her, listened until the sound of the horse's hooves faded into silence as it galloped through the forest.  
And still, he did not move.  
Not even as the clear sky clouded over and the air grew uncomfortably chilly.  
He just stood there, the increasing wind whipping at his cloak, his golden eyes troubled.

His last chance was gone - for good.  
While they might have just shared a magical evening together, he knew deep inside that Christine would not return.

After a while, he returned to his room, unclasping his cloak and letting it fall to the ground, before flinging his mask across the room in a sudden burst of rage.  
Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of Firmin's waddle.  
"Well, Your Grace," the majordomo said, his voice chipper, "I may have had my doubts, but everything appears to be moving like clockwork!"  
He smiled at his own wordplay.  
"It seems that true love really does win the day!"

"I let her go," Erik said, his tone flat.  
What good was delaying the inevitable?  
It was a large castle, true, but news spread quickly.  
Best to get it all out in the open and deal with the fallout.

Firmin's mouth dropped open.  
 _"You did what?"_ he sputtered, lost for words _.  
_ As if on cue, André and Fleurette entered the room.  
Madame Giry followed on her trolley.  
From the looks on their faces, Erik could tell that they had heard everything.

"Master..." André said gravely, the flames on his candles growing dim.  
"How could you do that?"  
"I had to..." Erik replied simply.  
"But, why?" André and Firmin asked in unison, both looking at him with confusion.  
His behavior was so odd.  
It was as though he had become a different person.

"Because he loves her," Madame Giry answered for him.  
Everyone turned to the teapot.  
Her voice was soft, her eyes sad as she looked at Erik.  
His shoulders slumped, but he did not deny what Madame Giry had said.  
She was right.  
He did love Christine.

"Then, why are we not human?" André asked, still confused.  
Firmin, however, was no longer confused.  
Now he was mad.  
"Because _she_ doesn't love _him_!" he snapped.  
"And now it's too late!"  
"But she might still come back..." Fleurette suggested hopefully.

Erik shook his head.  
"No. I set her free."  
He turned his back to the staff.  
"I'm just sorry I couldn't do the same for all of you," he said, meaning it with every fiber of his being.

Then, stepping out onto his balcony, he looked at the empty stable.  
Christine's leading Étoile out of the stable had been the hardest thing that Erik had ever had to witness.  
The pain he had felt during those first few years after the Enchantress had cursed him paled in comparison to the pain he had felt as Christine urged Étoile away.  
He had let his heart, which had been closed for so long, open, and the result?  
A deeper wound then he could bear.  
Because he knew that the memory of Christine, like the Enchantress's curse, would now stay with him forever.

He peered through the swirling snow, hoping for one last glimpse of her.  
But all he saw were trees.  
With a groan, he collapsed to the floor.

There was no denying it any longer, she was gone for good.  
All he had left of her - all he would ever have of her - were memories that would fade over time, leaving him alone - and a monster, forever.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-One...


	31. Who Is The Monster And Who Is The Man?

Chapter Thirty-One: Who Is The Monster And Who Is The Man?

Christine urged Étoile on, her heels digging into the mare's sides.  
She knew that the horse was fading, but she needed to get back to Brocéliande.  
Her father was in danger.

At first, the woods were strange to her and all she could do was hope that Étoile remembered where she was going.  
But soon she began to recognize familiar landmarks.  
A patch of blueberries here, a small pond there.

As the moon rose higher in the sky, she finally burst out of the woods and into the clearing at the edge of the village.  
She made sure that the magic mirror was still safely in her lap.

Then, hearing a commotion near the square, the redhead steered Étoile in that direction.  
To her surprise, a crowd had gathered around a horse-drawn wagon, which looked like a small metal prison with its steel frame and tiny barred window.  
She spotted Raoul standing nearby, looking smug, as always.  
She continued to scan the scene, and then her breath caught in her throat.  
Gustave was slumped over, barely conscious, inside the wagon's cage.

As Christine watched, Father Mansart ran up to the man locking Gustave inside - Monsieur Javert D'Arque, the head of the town asylum.  
"This man is hurt!" Father Mansart pleaded desperately.  
"Please, he needs a hospital, not an asylum!"  
Ignoring him, Monsieur D'Arque finished his task and headed up to the driver's perch.  
Raoul walked over and leaned against the wagon, seeming to whisper something to Gustave.

Christine had seen enough.  
That wagon wasn't going anywhere.  
Kicking Étoile forward, she made her way into the middle of the crowd.  
"Stop!" she cried.

Her voice cut through the crowd, silencing everyone instantly.  
The people turned in her direction, eyes wide in stunned disbelief.  
The layers of her ballgown flowed out around her like yellow rose petals, the golden glitter catching the moonlight and making the dress sparkle magically.

She could already hear the whispers of the villagers beginning like a slow wave.  
Some wondered where she had come from.  
Others wondered whether it was really her.  
And still others muttered about "that dress" with envy and desire.

Ignoring them, Christine dismounted.  
She kept her head high, her eyes seeking support in the crowd of villagers.  
She didn't find much.

Most of the villagers were eyeing her with open distrust now that the initial shock had worn off.  
Still, there were a few friendly faces.  
Father Mansart was standing close by, his expression bewildered and a bit defeated.  
And Armand the cobbler was there, too, though he looked puzzled and helpless, as usual.

Pushing down the slew of unkind words she wanted to hurl at the villagers, Christine stepped in front of the wagon.  
"Stop this right now!" she ordered, causing the horses to startle.  
She ran to the back of the wagon and peered through the locked door.  
Her father lay on the floor, clutching his side in pain.  
"Open this door! He's hurt!"

Monsieur D'Arque climbed down from his perch.  
As he walked toward her, Christine couldn't help but flinch.  
There was something dark and sinister in his eyes, and his pale, waxy complexion reminded her of the monsters in some of her stories.  
"I'm afraid we can't do that, mademoiselle," he replied.  
"But we'll take good care of him."  
While his words were meant to sound reassuring, they came across as a threat.

"My father is _not_ crazy!" the redhead shrieked indignantly.  
She turned and looked around the crowd, hoping for help.  
No one stepped forward.  
Finally, she turned to the one man whom she thought might advocate in her favor.  
"Raoul, _please_...tell him!" she begged desperately.

Raoul stepped out of the shadows where he had been waiting quietly.  
He had been worried that Christine had witnessed his part in Gustave's incarceration.  
He knew that if she had, any chance he had of marrying her would truly be gone.  
But luck, as usual, was with him.  
She seemed completely unaware.

Puffing out his chest, he put on his most sympathetic expression and walked up to her.  
"Christine, you know how loyal I am to your family," he said, laying on the sincerity, "but your father's been making some unbelievable claims.  
"It's true," Monsieur Armand confirmed. "He's been raving about a monster in an enchanted castle full of talking objects."

Christine looked back and forth between the two men.  
 _That_ was why her father was being hauled off to an asylum?  
She nearly laughed out loud in relief.  
"But I've just come from the castle!" she burst out in a rush.  
"He's telling the truth!"

Reaching out, Raoul put a hand on her shoulder.  
Then he gave her a condescending smile.  
Ever the showman, he spoke as much to the crowd as to her.  
"We all admire your devotion to your father," he said, "but your word is hardly proof."

Panic gripped Christine's heart.  
She needed something to show them that she wasn't making it up.  
But what?

In the pocket of her dress, her hand closed around the mirror and her eyes narrowed with determination.  
"You want proof?" she asked.  
She pulled out the mirror and held it up to face the villagers.  
 _"Show me Erik!"_

Once again, the mirror's face swirled magically.  
The reflection of the village faded away and was replaced with an image of a death's head with demonic yellow eyes that blazed with hellfire.  
"There's your proof!" the redhead snarled furiously.  
Raoul's face grew pale with shock.

"Well, it's hard to argue with that..." Monsieur Armand muttered, turning to look at Raoul.  
"This is sorcery!" Raoul shouted, snatching the mirror from Christine's hand.  
He held it up for all the villagers to see.  
"Look at this demon! Look at his face! His eyes!"  
The villagers craned their necks, hoping to get a better look, then screamed in terror when they caught sight of Erik.

Watching their reactions, Christine bit her lip nervously.  
She hadn't thought things through when she'd pulled out the mirror.  
She had been so desperate to save her father that it hadn't occurred to her what actually seeing Erik would do to the other villagers.  
She hadn't thought that they would see only the monster and not the man inside.

"No!" she cried out trying to fix the situation.  
"Please, I know he looks dangerous, but he's really kind and gentle..."  
The redhead smiled wistfully.  
"He's my friend..."

"The monster has her under his spell!" Raoul called out, shooting Christine a deadly glare.  
"If I didn't know better, I'd say she even cared for this monster!"  
Christine felt his words like a slap across the face.  
After all he had done, he dared call Erik a monster?  
"Erik would never harm anyone!" she insisted, turning and pleading with the villagers.  
They looked back at her, their expressions wary, and the unease in the pit of her stomach grew.  
She should have known better.  
The villagers adored the Vicomte.  
He was their savior, their main source of food and shelter during the poor harvests and harsh winters.  
He was their one small claim to fame.  
And Christine?  
She was just an odd girl who liked to read.

As Raoul continued to rile the villagers into a frenzy against Erik, Christine backed away.  
She had lost all hope of turning the tide in her favor.  
Catching sight of her, Raoul shouted to three of his henchmen.  
"We can't have her running off to warn the monster!" he called out.  
"Lock her up!"

Before she could turn and run, one of the men grabbed Christine roughly by the arm.  
The redhead kicked and shouted, but it was no use.  
As Raoul called for his horse, she was dragged and tossed into the wagon cell where her father was being held captive.  
Monsieur D'Arque moved to stand guard.

Throwing his leg over his tall white stallion, Raoul turned once more to the villagers.  
Shouts of approval rang out as he lifted his hand to the night sky.  
"That creature will curse us all if we don't stop him!" he roared, riling the villagers up even further.  
"So I say we kill the freak!"

The village erupted in bloodthirsty cries as Christine watched in horror from behind the iron bars.  
Raoul was in his element.  
Erik wasn't just a scary monster to him, he was a rival for Christine's affections and therefore, had to be eliminated.  
As he led the mob from the village, he stoked their fears until they were burning as bright and as hot as the torches that some of the men carried.  
He painted a picture of a hell-spawned demon that lived in the shadows and prowled the village and surrounding forest at sundown on the full moon, thirsting for blood.  
An living nightmare that needed to be destroyed immediately.

By the time the mob had disappeared into the woods, they were carrying weapons of all shapes and sizes.  
Some held shovels, others seized pitchforks.  
A few found axes and hefted them over their shoulders.  
And _all of them -_ armed or not - looked ready to follow Raoul in his mad quest to kill Erik.

Unable to do anything else, Christine stood still, her hands clutching the iron bars.  
Erik, Madame Giry, André...everyone she had grown to love...they were all in serious danger!  
And it was all her fault...

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-Two...


	32. Invaders!

Chapter Thirty-Two: Invaders!

Inside the castle, the staff members felt as though they were already dead.  
Their one hope of salvation - Christine - had fled, and now the master was back to brooding, the rose was still wilting, and they had no chance of reversing the curse before it was too late.

As the night had grown darker, they had gathered in the foyer, taking solace in all they had left - each other.  
Madame Giry, Marie and Elisabeth nuzzled together on the serving trolley as Meg the music box tinkled softly next to them, one of the other servants having brought her downstairs earlier.  
Fleurette rested her head on André's shoulder, his flames having long since grown dim and his expression was as drawn and as serious as that of Firmin, who stood off to the side.

"He's finally learned to love," André said sadly, gazing toward the West Wing balcony where the master stood.  
"A lot of good that does us if she doesn't love him in return!" Firmin pointed out.  
He crossed his arms and pouted petulantly.  
"It's not too late," Fleurette chimed in hopefully. "She could still return..."  
"No..." Madame Giry said regretfully.  
"This evening was the first time I've had any real hope that the curse could be broken, but now that he's let her go..." she trailed off.

Firmin opened his mouth to make a snippy retort but was stopped by Marie.  
The elder teacup had turned toward the door and was listening intently.  
"Did you hear that, Maman?" she asked.  
"Is it her?" Elisabeth chimed in, jumping down from the serving trolley and hopping over to the window.

The rest of the staff rushed to join Elisabeth at the window.  
They strained at the windowpane, trying to hear whatever it was that the elder teacup had heard.  
In the distance, they saw light from torches flash through the trees.

André's flames erupted in excitement.  
"Could it be? he asked, pushing through the other staff.  
It was hard to see outside through the frost that covered the window.  
He held up a flame, warming the window until the frost melted.  
Then he let out a shout of dismay.  
" _Sacre bleu!_ " he cried out in horror.  
"Invaders!"

The others peered through the cleared window.  
André was right.  
It wasn't Christine coming through the woods, returning to declare her love and break the spell.  
It was a mob!  
And from the looks of it, a very angry mob.

The villagers pushed through the castle gate and made their way across the bridge up to the colonnade.  
Leading the charge was tall, broad man on a huge white stallion.  
As the staff watched, he turned and addressed the mob.  
"Take whatever treasures you can find!" he roared.  
"Just remember, that freak is _mine_!"

The staff collectively gasped in fear.  
What were they going to do?  
Firmin knew exactly what _he_ had to do.  
He had to warn the master!

Leaving the others to form a small, sad barricade at the front door, Firmin headed up to the West Wing.  
Peering around, he finally spotted the lone masked figure standing in front of the glass jar that held the enchanted rose.  
There were only two petals left now, and as he watched, one broke away and drifted to the bottom of the jar.  
He cleared his throat.  
"Oh, pardon me, Your Grace!" he wheezed nervously.  
"Leave me in peace," Erik said hopelessly, not bothering to look up.  
"But, Master, the castle is under attack!" Firmin burst out urgently.

Erik still didn't look up.  
When he spoke next, his voice was filled with pain.  
"It doesn't matter now," he said sadly, finally raising his head.  
His piercing amber eyes were glazed over with held-back tears.  
"Why fight? Just let them come."

Firmin had had enough.  
Gone was the calm, patient, loyal majordomo.  
He had spent far too many years stuck as a clock to have the master give up now.  
He had watched the master throw away his only chance at happiness and had silently let him.  
But not anymore.  
Now he was going to speak his mind.

"Why fight?" he snapped furiously.  
"Why indeed! Why do any damned thing at all?"  
Finishing, Firmin caught his breath and waited for the master to say something, anything, in return.  
But all he did was lower his head once more as he turned his back on him.

With a sigh, Firmin turned and began the long walk back to the foyer.  
It looked like the staff were on their own.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-Three...


	33. Escape

Chapter Thirty-Three: Escape

"I have to warn Erik!" Christine cried out fearfully, looking around frantically.  
Her hands were clenched by her sides, and her eyes were wild as she desperately searched the small space for any means of escape.  
There wasn't one.  
The window was too small - and covered by bars - and the wagon had been locked from the outside.

" _Warn_ _him_?" Gustave sputtered in confusion.  
He sat slumped in a corner.  
He looked even worse than he had when he'd been a prisoner in the castle dungeons.  
His clothes were disheveled and his hair was sticking up in every direction.  
He had scrapes on his palms from falling on them, and exhaustion hung heavy on his shoulders.

"How did you escape?" he wondered.  
The last he'd known, his daughter was being held prisoner by the very creature who she now sought so desperately to protect.

Christine stopped pacing.  
She turned to her father and took his hands in hers.  
"I didn't escape, Papa, he let me go."  
"I don't understand," Gustave sighed in frustration.  
"I know, Papa, but please, just trust me!" the redhead pleaded urgently.  
"Will you help me?"

Gustave gave his daughter a long, assessing look.  
She didn't _seem_ mad...  
And she always had been the forgiving sort...when the person deserved it!  
"But...it's dangerous!" he protested weakly.  
"Yes, it is!" Christine said bravely.  
She waited for him to argue, but he just sighed and shook his head.

Then he clapped his hands.  
"Well, then!" he said as he looked around the tiny wagon cell,  
"It looks like we need to find a way out of here so you can go save...whatever his name is!"  
Christine laughed.  
"Erik, Papa! His name is Erik!"  
Then her smile faded.  
"But I've already checked. There's no way out!"

Gustave just smiled.  
If there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was that there was _always_ a way out.  
You just had to know how to find it.

He peered through the small window at the lock on the wagon door.  
Its makeup didn't look all that terribly different from some of his music boxes.  
"I think I might be able to pick the lock!" he whispered excitedly.  
"If only I had something sharp..." his voice trailed off as he suddenly caught sight of the hairpin that Christine was holding up in front of him.  
They shared a conspiratorial grin.

Then he got to work picking the lock.  
When it finally clicked free, they slowly pushed the wagon door open.  
"What are you waiting for?" Gustave whispered to his daughter.  
"Go!"

Giving him a grateful smile, Christine took off across the village square, not stopping to see if Monsieur D'Arque had spotted her.  
She made it to Étoile and jumped on the mare's back.  
Giving the horse a good, strong kick, she pulled on the reins and steered them out of the village.  
Behind her, she could hear Monsieur D'Arque's furious shouts and her father's happy cheers.  
Leaning forward, the redhead urged Étoile on.  
They didn't have time to celebrate this minor victory.  
They needed to get back to the castle.

As they galloped through the thickening trees, Christine could only hope that they would make it in time.  
She didn't want to imagine what Raoul and his bloodthirsty mob might do when they came face to face with a foe unlike anything they had ever seen before.  
Then her thoughts turned to Madame Giry, André, Firmin, and little Elisabeth.  
They would be defenseless against the mob.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-Four...


	34. Battle, Part One

Chapter Thirty-Four: Battle, Part One

 _"ATTACK!"  
_ Madame Giry's voice rang out through the foyer.  
On her command, the furniture around her came to life.

Despite Christine's fear, the staff members were far from defenseless.  
Or rather, they were trying to be.  
As soon as they had seen the approaching mob, they had sprung into action.  
While Firmin had been trying - and failing - to get the master to stop wallowing and fight, Madame Giry, André and Fleurette had come up with a plan.  
It was simple - barricade the door - but it was still a plan.

They had tried to block the door, but when the villagers started breaking it down with a battering ram, they knew it was fruitless.  
So they had decided to flee their post at the door and play to their strengths, lying in wait, as still as real furniture, while the unsuspecting villagers poured in.  
Finally, Madame Giry yelled the signal, and the objects sprang into their surprise attack.

Chairs kicked.  
Fleurette and the other dusters waved their feathers in villagers' faces until they started to sneeze.  
Candles shot their flames high into the air, blinding some and giving the backsides of several unsuspecting villagers quite the burn.  
As the furniture advanced, the mob shrieked in fear and the villagers tried to defend themselves.  
But the castle staff had the element of surprise.

Standing amid the chaos, Raoul tried to make sense of what was currently taking place.  
He knew how to duel.  
He had done that plenty of times, growing up.  
He also knew how to hunt, even if he wasn't very good at it.  
But a roomful of furniture that could walk and talk?  
That was something he'd never encountered before!

 _"Vicomte, look out!"_  
Hearing a warning cry from one of the villagers, Raoul turned to see a tall coatrack pulling back one of its "arms", preparing to hit him.  
Raoul didn't think, he just acted.  
Grabbing the nearest villager - a Monsieur Armand, if he recalled correctly - by his collar, he held the man up in front of him.  
The coatrack's punch landed squarely in the cobbler's midsection.

Monsieur Armand grunted.  
A moment later, things got even worse as a large harpsichord stood on its back legs and fell forward.  
Once again, Raoul used the cobbler as a human shield.  
There was a muffled shout as the harpsichord fell onto Monsieur Armand.

Raoul took one last look at the cobbler, then he looked down at the mirror that was still clutched in his hand.  
He could see the monster standing on a balcony somewhere, high above the foyer.  
Paying no heed to to Monsieur Armand's desperate pleas and cries for help, he turned and walked off, picking his way through the furniture.

He ducked out of the way as two small teacups blasted by him on the back of a serving trolley.  
He moved to the side as a credenza tried to trip him, and then avoided falling over a small bench that barked at him like a dog.  
Moments later, he was bounding up the grand staircase as the noise of battle faded behind him.  
He kept climbing.  
His battle was somewhere ahead, he knew it.

Then, as if to prove him right, Firmin appeared at the top of the stairs.  
The small clock was descending from one of the wings, his expression glum.  
"My, my, my, what are you doing up there?" Raoul mocked.  
"Is there something up there?"

Firmin gulped.  
He had just inadvertently given away the master's position.  
Before Firmin could do anything to stop him, Raoul swung his leg back and kicked Firmin down the stairs.  
As Firmin thudded away, Raoul once again set his sights on the top of the stairs.  
Now that he knew that the monster was somewhere up there, it was only a matter of time before the freak was dead and Christine was his.

In the meantime, back in the foyer, the household furniture continued to push back the villagers.  
Madame Giry poured boiling tea out of her spout while Marie and Elisabeth, riding Fifi, drew a dozen annoyed villagers toward the kitchen where Chef Potts was waiting, pots of grease ready to be poured.  
As soon as the teacups were safely past, Chef Potts dumped the grease on the floor.  
A moment later, the villagers entered the room and instantly began to slip and slide.  
They fell into a pile on the floor.

Unbeknownst to anyone, a new figure was making her way through the chaos - Vivienne.  
Though she wore her usual rags, she looked different than she normally did in the village.  
Her face was clean and the hair underneath her hood was formed into soft curls.  
She walked calmly past the droves of fighting villagers and objects, and ascended the staircase that led to the West Wing.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-Five...


	35. Battle, Part Two

Chapter Thirty-Five: Battle, Part Two

As Christine rode through the castle's gate, she was certain that she was too late.  
She heard people shouting and saw villagers running.  
But she suddenly realized that they were running _out_ of the castle.

Hope flared in her chest, and when she finally made it through the front door, she was thrilled to see that the castle staff had won.  
They stood around the foyer, cheering and congratulating each other, as the villagers fled, proverbial tails tucked between their legs.  
Then she realized something was missing.  
Erik was nowhere to be seen, and she hadn't spotted Raoul anywhere outside, either...  
That bad feeling in the pit of her stomach returned with a vengeance.

She practically flew up the grand staircase, her heart pounding with terror.  
All she could think about was getting to Raoul and stopping him before he could do something awful to Erik!  
What-if's flooded through her mind.  
 _What if I had never left? What if I had just kept the mirror hidden? What if I'm too late? What if I never get to see him again?  
_ Her eyes filled with tears and she stumbled on the top step.  
The redhead knew that if Erik were gone, she would have no one to blame but herself.

She had seen where Erik was when she'd flashed the mirror in front of the villagers.  
She had recognized the balcony outside his bedroom in the West Wing.  
Since he hadn't been downstairs, Christine had a pretty strong feeling that she would find both Raoul and Erik on that balcony.

Picking up her pace, she plunged down the long hallway and burst into Erik's room.  
Looking around frantically, she heard voices and crept closer, making sure to stay hidden.

Glancing cautiously around the corner, the redhead stifled a gasp.  
She had been right.  
Erik and Raoul were on that balcony.  
Their backs were to her, so they didn't see her arrive.

"Hello, Freak, I'm the Vicomte de Chagny," Raoul said smugly, and Christine rolled her eyes in disgust.  
Honestly, could that man possibly get anymore conceited?  
"Christine sent me."  
The redhead's mouth dropped in outrage.  
She most certainly had not!  
"Were you in love with her, Freak?" Raoul taunted, his lip curling in a sneer.  
Christine felt her temper rising, her nails were digging into her palms.  
"Did you honestly think she'd want _you_ , when she could have someone like _me?"  
_ The redhead wanted to slap him, but resisted - barely.  
Erik said nothing, and then with sick horror, Christine saw the gun and darted out of her hiding place.

Just as Raoul pulled the trigger, the redhead jumped onto his back, causing the shot to miss its target, instead hitting a nearby gargoyle, which broke apart and one of the pieces hit Erik on the head, knocking him out.  
"What have you done?" Christine tried to reach over him and grab the gun, but he held it out of her reach.  
The large man swung her off his back and grabbed her arm.  
She struggled to free herself, but his grip was too strong.

Staring down at her, he asked, his voice full of disbelief, "You prefer that misshapen thing over me...when I offered you everything?"  
His fingers dug into her skin, turning it red and Christine cringed.  
Gone was the noble Vicomte.  
The man standing in front of her had finally revealed himself as the monster he truly was.

"When we get back to the village, you will marry me..." he snarled furiously.  
"And that creature will be placed on display in _Les_ C _irque du Freaks_!  
"Never!" the redhead shouted furiously.

Perhaps Raoul's hand slackened for just one moment.  
Or perhaps shock made him temporarily weaker.  
Or perhaps it was something more magical than any of that.  
But whatever the reason, the redhead was able to yank her arm free.  
Pivoting on her heel, she grabbed the barrel of the gun.  
Then she kicked him in the shin and yanked the weapon from him - hard.

But Raoul wasn't about to let go of his gun - even if the person on the other end was his supposed future wife.  
He hung onto it as Christine swung it closer to the balcony's edge.  
His feet slipped and slid as he struggled to find his footing on the cold surface.  
But the stones were slick from the snow that usually blanketed the castle, and some where even loose.

Raoul cried out as his foot landed on one loose stone.  
Releasing the gun, his hands flew into the air as he stumbled backward over the edge of the balcony.  
Christine gasped, convinced that she had just sent him plummeting to his death.

But, fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it - he managed to swing himself to safety through a window below just in time.  
With a grunt, he landed on a spiral staircase that led up to a nearby turret.  
His rifle, in the meantime, continued to fall, and finally came to rest on a crumbling stone footbridge a few stories down.

Instantly, Raoul was on his feet and raced down the steps to where his gun lay.  
Looking upward, he could see that that creature had regained consciousness, and was being helped to his feet by Christine.  
Reloading the gun, he took aim...

Christine crouched anxiously near Erik's head, her fingers combing through his thin locks as she waited for him to regain consciousness.  
Finally, he let out a weak groan and the redhead let out a sob of relief and hugged him tightly.  
She felt him tense slightly, and pulled back a little so she could look at his face - albeit masked.  
His eyes looked dazed and bewildered.  
"C-Christine?" he rasped out hoarsely.  
The redhead nodded and his golden eyes filled with tears.  
"You're really here?" he asked unsurely, his voice small and childlike.  
"Erik's not dreaming?"  
The redhead just smiled and shook her head.  
Almost immediately, she felt his arms squeezing her as tightly as he could.  
Finally extracting herself from the embrace, she helped him to his feet.  
They were just about to go back inside when there was a loud bang and Christine felt a searing pain.

As Raoul fired, the stones beneath his feet gave way.  
In an instant, there was only empty air - and a long drop into nothingness - underneath him.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-Six...


	36. The Aftermath

Chapter Thirty-Six: The Aftermath

Erik flinched reflexively as he heard the gun go off, expecting to be hit - but to his surprise, there was no pain.  
Patting himself down thoroughly, he realized that there was no wound - he was completely unharmed.  
But then, what had the bullet struck?

Suddenly, he heard a pained whimper behind him and turned to see Christine staggering heavily, clutching her side.  
His eyes widened in horror as they took in the crimson stain that was rapidly spreading across the yellow silk of her gown.  
"No..." he choked out disbelievingly as the redhead finally collapsed, her legs unable to support her rapidly-weakening body.  
He scrambled over to where she was lying, her eyes barely open, and pulled her into his arms.

"Christine!" he sobbed brokenly.  
The redhead moaned weakly and lifted her head a few centimeters off the ground.  
"Erik?" she whispered faintly.  
The masked man could barely control his tears.  
"Yes, _Mon Coeur,_ I'm here. Erik is here."

Her head fell back to the ground again as she lost the strength to hold it up.  
"I'm so sorry..." she murmured weakly.  
"I showed them...the mirror...only way...to save...Papa..."  
The redhead's eyes were slowly drifting closed.  
"Hush..." Erik soothed. "It's not your fault."  
"Erik?" Christine mumbled, her cheeks reddening slightly despite their growing pallor.  
"I saw your face in the mirror...without the mask."  
Before Erik could think of anything to say to this, Christine gave a soft sigh.  
"I love you, Erik..."  
Then she closed her eyes.

For a moment, all Erik could do was stare uncomprehendingly at the closed eyes and porcelain features.  
Then the pain came.  
He let out a scream of agony and despair, pulling the redhead's limp form to his chest and rocking her back and forth, her head lolling lifelessly against his shoulder.  
 _"CHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS-TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!"_

At that very moment, the last petal that was on the enchanted rose wilted and fell away, floating gracefully to land at the bottom of the bell jar with the others.  
The curse was complete.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-Seven...


	37. The Last Petal Falls

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Last Petal Falls

As Christine took her last breath up on the West Wing balcony, the staff, unaware of the tragedy upstairs, were in the middle of a celebration.  
They had all gathered on one of the lower terraces to watch as the villagers ran off through the woods.  
André's flames were shining bright, buoyed by victory.  
Fleurette had fluffed her feathers, and Firmin was ticking and tocking at a much faster rate than usual.  
Even the larger pieces of furniture, like La Esmeralda and her lover, Maestro Reyer, had made their way out to celebrate.

André turned to Fleurette and took her in his arms.  
The feather duster giggled flirtatiously.  
"We did it, Fleurette!" he cried, dipping her.  
"Victory is ours!"

He leaned down to kiss her and gasped.  
She had grown still and silent in his arms.  
She was no longer alive.  
With the last petal gone, the curse had taken full effect.

One by one, the once-animate objects grew inanimate.  
As André watched in horror, La Esmeralda froze in the middle of a theatrical flourish.  
Letting out a shout, Maestro Reyer began to play his keys, frantic to keep them moving.  
But there was nothing he could do.  
They, too, slowed until, finally, they stopped and the harpsichord became still.

The curse swept through the castle like a wind, and no matter how they tried to escape it, the staff could not get away.  
Fifi barked one last time before turning back into a harpsichord bench.  
Madame Giry frantically approached André and Firmin, searching for her daughters, but before she could find them, her face disappeared in the painted ornamentation of the teapot.  
Elisabeth became still next, her features fading away until she no longer resembled a sweet little girl, and was just an ordinary teacup.

"André..."  
Hearing Firmin's voice, the candelabra turned, dreading the inevitable.  
The little clock was struggling against the curse, trying his hardest to keep ticking.  
"No!" André cried. "Hold on, Firmin!"  
"I...can't..." Firmin said, his voice growing weak.  
He gave a long, slow tick and an even slower tock.  
"André, my friend, it was an honor to serve with you."  
André lowered his flames as Firmin's voice faded away completely.  
The only sound he made was the ticktock of a small clock.  
He was no longer the majordomo.  
He was an object.

"The honor was mine, mon ami," the candelabra said gravely.  
And as André looked around, he saw that they were _all_ objects now.  
No one but him was left.

André knew that up in the West Wing, the last rose petal had fallen.  
A moment later, he, too, stiffened and the light faded from his candles as his final transformation took place.  
Soon the terrace was quiet except for the ticking of the clock that had once been Firmin.  
A soft snow began to fall, covering the objects and making them look like ghosts.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-Eight...


	38. Confessions Of The Heart

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Confessions Of The Heart

Up on the balcony, Erik barely noticed the snow falling on his head and shoulders.  
He didn't care that the last petal had probably fallen by now.  
All he could think about was the dead girl cradled in his arms.

Her body was still warm, and for a desperate moment, Erik wanted to believe that she was still there.  
He gently laid her back down on the ground with her head resting in his lap, tenderly running his bare fingers through her hair.  
Her hair felt so unbelievably soft and he wished that she would open her eyes so he could see them once more, the most beautiful shade of blue that Erik had ever known, staring back at him and filled with life.  
"Come back," he begged desperately, his voice thick with tears.  
Overcome with emotion, he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.  
 _"Je t'aime..."_

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Thirty-Nine...


	39. Hearts May Get Broken

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Hearts May Get Broken...

Though Erik did not know it, Vivienne had entered the room and was standing on the balcony next to what was left of the enchanted rose, watching intently.  
The woman lowered the hood of her cloak and extended her hand toward the bell jar.  
In an instant, the jar disappeared, leaving behind the crimson petals and a trace of golden dust.  
Vivienne swirled her hand and the petals rose.  
The golden dust seemed to multiply, moving rapidly towards Erik and enveloping him entirely before lifting him off the ground.

As Erik felt himself rising up into the air, he fought desperately to keep hold of Christine, wanting to cling to her as long as possible, but her body slipped from his grasp and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get back to her.

 _No. Not again. Please, don't take me away from her. Not now._

He tried to turn to look back at her, but the spell became too powerful and its light was too blinding...  
He had to shut his eyes against the abrupt sunlight blazing in its warmth, though this time, the storm of light carried a different sort of power.  
He blinked... and suddenly he found himself back in the ballroom all those years ago, kneeling in front of a powerful enchantress as his handsome features that he had so prided himself on turned to a hideous, skeletal monstrosity, forcing him to become a prisoner within his own castle.  
And yet, this power wasn't painful or trapping.  
No, instead it felt... _freeing._

An unknown period of time later, Erik felt himself descending until his feet touched stone and the glowing whirlwind disappeared.  
He looked down at his hands and gasped.  
Whole, pink, non-bony flesh.  
Tearing off his mask, he patted his face frantically and laughed in delight to finally feel the nose that he'd been missing for the last fifteen years.  
The curse was broken!  
And if he was free of the curse, then surely that meant that Christine...

He wasted no time rushing over to her still form.  
Her face was as pale as the snow around her, and her lips devoid of all color.  
"Christine?" he urged frantically.  
But nothing happened.  
The redhead remained still and unresponsive.  
"Christine, wake up!" Erik pleaded, desperately shaking her shoulder, but her head just lolled limply from side to side.  
He felt a sudden fear.  
What if...

"Christine?" he whispered hesitantly.  
Erik reached out a hand and tentatively touched her cheek, then jerked back with a startled exclamation.  
Her skin was like ice!  
Desperately, he checked for a pulse, but could find nothing, and broke down in a fresh wave of tears.

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!  
It wasn't supposed to end like this!  
The curse would be broken, Christine would be alive, and they would get married, and have children, and whatever romantic foolishness came next!  
But now the curse was broken, yet Christine was dead.  
What was the point of being free of the curse if it meant losing his Christine?

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty...


	40. Winter Turns To Spring

Chapter Forty: Winter Turns To Spring...

As dawn broke over the horizon, the castle began to transform.  
The cold gray stone became awash with gold.  
The snow faded from the ground, giving way to bright green grass.  
Colorful flowers burst forth, and in the colonnade, the white roses turned red.

Up on the parapets of the castle, the gargoyle statues, their faces so long stuck in frightening sneers, returned to their original forms of noble beasts and men.  
Even the sky seemed touched by the magical transformation.  
Clouds disappeared, revealing a sky almost as brilliantly blue as Christine's eyes.

Inside the castle, the transformation continued.  
As the light from the dawn filtered through the large windows, it illuminated the objects that had, only moments before, been rendered immobile.  
Fifi turned from a harpsichord bench back into a tiny bichon frise.  
Immediately, she leapt up and chased her tail before going to relieve herself on the immobile coatrack, who, as luck would have it, turned back into a man just as Fifi finished her business.  
Shooing her away, the valet turned and almost tripped over the trolley cart holding Madame Giry and her daughters.

He shouted as it started to roll away, barely missing La Esmeralda, who was waddling in and out of the sunlight.  
As she did, she turned from wardrobe to human to wardrobe again until, finally, she landed with a thud right next to Maestro Reyer.  
Moments later, they both transformed once and for all back into the diva and the maestro.

And so it continued.  
Throughout the castle, excited cries could be heard coming from all over as the curse was lifted.  
Maids giggled as their feathers turned back into legs and candles shouted happily as their wicks turned back into fingers.  
In the kitchen, the stove became the chef again and immediately began giving orders to prepare a feast.

Firmin's ticks became a series of coughs as he, too, transformed back into his human shape.  
Brushing off his coat, he looked around for André and smiled when he saw that the candelabra was once again the head footman - but still up to his old tricks.  
He was chasing Fleurette around the dining room table.  
Catching her, he dipped her back and kissed her passionately.

Firmin was saved from witnessing how long the kiss went on by the rattling sound of china.  
He looked up to see the trolley carrying Madame Giry and her daughters barreling toward the top of the staircase.  
For a moment, it looked like they might tumble to their deaths.  
But as Firmin watched, the trolley jerked to a stop, sending all four of its occupants flying forward.  
Midair, as their fragile bodies hit the sun, they transformed, and slid down the rest of the stairs on their very human posteriors.

"Marie?" Madame Giry gasped, patting her eldest daughter's face in disbelief.  
"Can it be?"  
Turning around, she let out a cry of happiness as she squeezed Elisabeth tightly before grabbing hold of Meg and refusing to let go.  
"Oh, my darlings! We're back!"

Released from her mother's arms, Marie raced toward the front door.  
As she flung it open, the sun poured in - and so did some of the villagers.  
For, truth be told, they had been under the enchantment too.  
Now, with every moment that passed, they were beginning to remember all that they had forgotten - the castle with the cruel king and the haughty prince, the lavish parties that had once been thrown, their loved ones who had worked there...

Approaching the door, Armand the cobbler took in the castle, which now glowed with happiness and warmth.  
And then his eyes fell on Marie in the doorway, and beyond, Madame Giry with Meg and Elisabeth.  
"Darling?" he shouted happily.  
Madame Giry smiled back.  
" _Bonjour_ , Monsieur Giry!" she laughed, running toward him.  
"Oh, Adelaide..." he sighed contentedly.  
"Papa!" Marie, Elisabeth and Meg called out happily and he laughed in delight, hugging them all tightly.  
"Oh, _mes enfants précieux_!"

As the reunions continued and joyful staff members ran about the castle, calling out to each other and hugging one another, it took a few hours before anyone realized that something was not right.  
But when they did, everyone was immediately concerned.  
Where was the Prince, and why hadn't he come downstairs with Mademoiselle Christine yet?

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty-One...


	41. Then His World Was Shattered

Chapter Forty-One: Then His World Was Shattered...

Erik didn't know how long he knelt there on the balcony, weeping over the lifeless form of his love.  
It felt like an eternity.  
Gazing around numbly, he forced himself to rise, clutching Christine's body protectively to his chest.

Christine shouldn't be out here.  
This was not a suitable resting place for the body of his precious _coeur_...  
Making his way through the West Wing, he gently laid her down on his own bed, tenderly tucking a tendril of flame-colored hair back behind her ear.

A knock sounded on the door.  
"Your Grace?" Madame Giry's voice sounded from the other side of the door.  
"Is everything alright in there?"  
"Leave me be," Erik choked out, his voice thick with tears.

The door opened and he heard a gasp.  
"Oh, Your Highness..." her voice trailed off as she moved over to stand next to him, eyes filled with pity as she gazed down at the dead girl lying on the bed.  
"What happened?"

"That bastard Vicomte shot her!" Erik snarled before breaking down into fresh tears.  
"He killed her..."  
Madame Giry patted his back gently.  
"Erik would dearly love to kill _him_ , _"_ he muttered darkly _,_ "but unfortunately the Fop fell to his death right after murdering Erik's _petit ange_..."  
Madame Giry sighed, but said nothing.

"Who is going to tell her father?" Erik muttered, his voice pained.  
He let out an anguished sob, reaching forward to caress the redhead's pale, porcelain cheek.  
"Oh, my Christine..."

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty-Two...


	42. Once Upon Another Time

A/N: Okay, I have spent the past three days writing this chapter when it usually only takes me three hours, so you guys had better appreciate this!

Chapter Forty-Two: Once Upon Another Time

It had been three days since Christine's death.  
Madame Giry had been forced to drug Erik's tea in order to get him to leave the redhead's side long enough for the older woman to wash and stitch up the bullet wound before, with La Esmeralda's help, dressing her in an elegant ivory silk gown with a lace-trimmed neckline and vine-like embroidery on the skirt.  
Now the red-haired girl lay upon a small bed that was fitted with black and gold velvet sheets and surrounded by thousands of dark crimson roses, in preparation for the funeral that was scheduled to take place the next morning.

Erik had stopped eating, and several times, Madame Giry had to literally force him to drink something.  
He didn't see the point, though.  
Why should he eat or drink when Christine would never do so again?  
Yes, he knew that he would most likely end up starving to death if he kept this up, but death was vastly preferable to the torturous Hell that a life without Christine would be.

Now, as he gazed down at Christine's lifeless form, Erik broke down in tears.  
"Erik is sorry, _Mon Coeur_!" he wept, clutching the redhead's limp hand tightly, tearfully pressing his lips to each of her fingers and then her palm before placing her hand tenderly back on the bed.  
"Erik is so sorry... He should have protected you better..."  
His words became unintelligible through the heaving sobs that wracked his thin frame as he fell to his knees, unable to stand, and then eventually, ended up in a seated position.

Eventually, he ended up crying himself to sleep, and therefore never heard the slight creak as the door opened, or saw the cloaked figure that stepped inside and made its way silently toward the still form on the bed.  
Stopping next to the bed, the cloaked figure just stood there for a long moment, staring down at the body of the girl who was able to win the prince's heart.  
The figure turned and looked down at the sleeping man on the floor, dried tearstains clearly visible on his face.  
Then, taking no further course of action, the figure turned and left the room, departing just as silently as it had arrived.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty-Three... 


	43. Help Me Say Goodbye

Chapter Forty-Three: Help Me Say "Goodbye"...

Erik's feverish ramblings soon became reality.  
A frantic Gustave showed up at the palace gates the day of the funeral, demanding to know where his daughter was and what had happened to her.  
As Erik was in no condition to explain, Madame Giry was forced to explain exactly what had transpired up in the West Wing four days ago.  
Upon learning of of his daughter's death, and that her funeral was scheduled to take place in just a few short hours, the old man felt his vision turn gray and tilt sideways before everything went black.

When he regained consciousness, Gustave was surprised to find himself lying in a comfortable bed in a richly furnished room.  
"Oh, Christine..." he choked out hoarsely, closing his eyes and fighting back tears as he remembered the cheeky little girl with wild red curls and big blue eyes and an impish grin that could steal your heart without even trying.  
The cheerful little girl who liked to climb trees and ride horses, before her mother had died and she eventually turned to books, music and art in order to escape from the cruel realities of life.  
His beautiful little girl who was now forever lost to him.

After the funeral, Christine's body was laid to rest, per Erik's instructions, in a crystal and glass casket, which was placed inside a little room connected to the palace chapel, the newly-transformed prince unable to bury her, and unwilling to let anyone else do so in his stead.  
Nobody was expecting the chaos that was about to be unleashed upon the castle early the very next morning.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty-Four...


	44. Why Can't The Past Just Die?

Chapter Forty-Four: Why Can't The Past Just Die?

Later that night, Erik found himself unable to sleep peacefully, his dreams plagued with images of that fateful night when his _petit ange_ had been so cruelly taken from him.

 _He was back on the balcony, Christine's lifeless form clutched tightly to his chest as he wept into her hair.  
Suddenly, the redhead's eyes opened and Erik flinched backwards in shock, accidentally dropping her in the process.  
Slowly, she sat up, glancing down emotionlessly at the blood soaking her side, then she got to her feet._

 _"Mon Coeur?" Erik whispered in disbelief, his golden eyes filling with tears.  
She looked at him and Erik bit back a cry.  
Her eyes!  
Her beautiful sky-blue eyes, once shining with life and laughter were now dull and glazed over.  
Her face bore an expression of pure hatred as she stared at him, her jaw contorted in an ugly snarl._

 _"You killed me," Christine accused, her voice harsh and grating.  
"No!" Erik protested, her words ripping at his heart.  
"It was the Fop, he shot you..."  
"You failed to protect me," the redhead responded evenly._

 _Christine walked forward, reaching out to caress Erik's cheek.  
"It should have been you..." she murmured inaudibly as her body slowly faded from existence, vanishing completely a few seconds later._

"CHRISTINE!" Erik screamed hoarsely as he bolted upright, his face streaked with tears.  
Breathing harshly, he forced himself to calm down.  
Climbing out of bed, he donned a black woolen cloak and silently stole out into the hallway.

Making his way through the twisting corridors, his mind was focused on one subject.  
Did Christine really blame him for her death?

As he entered the chapel, Erik was struck by a stained glass window depicting the Holy Mother with the Christ Child.  
Overcome with a sudden surge of emotion, he collapsed to his knees at the foot of the altar and began to pray.

 _"Réquiem ætérnam dona ei Dómine; et lux perpétua lúceat ei. Requiéscat in pace. Amen."_

Finishing his prayer, he then rose gracefully to his feet and walked to the very back of the chapel where there was a small wooden door.  
Opening the door, Erik stepped into the little room where his love's casket rested, not realizing that someone else was already inside.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty-Five...


	45. Love's A Curious Thing

Chapter Forty-Five: Love's A Curious Thing...

Vivienne gently touched the cold, ashy cheek of the red-haired girl lying still and lifeless in front of her.  
She had not forseen this outcome.

Originally, when she had cursed the prince all those years ago, she had expected him to fail, as countless others had before him.  
Oh, she hadn't wanted him to fail - quite the contrary!  
It was simply that very few people, once Vivienne had cursed them, successfully managed to meet the requirements to break said curses.

But this man had truly surprised her.  
It was true that his relationship with the girl had started rather pathetically, all things considered.  
He really did need to work on his temper...  
But eventually, a slow friendship formed between the two.

And then this happened.  
At first everything seemed to be going smoothly.  
The prince had fallen in love with the girl, and she seemed to be well on her way to returning his feelings.  
But then their fates changed.  
The girl was never meant to get shot, that pesky Vicomte was supposed to stab the prince in the back with a dagger that he'd hidden in his boot.

Vivienne frowned slightly.  
Maybe there was hope for some of the others she had cursed, those whose time hadn't run out yet...  
There was still that princess from the kingdom of Delphi.

As an only child who had whose father had catered to her every whim, her mother having passed away in childbirth with her younger brother, who had been stillborn, Princess Luciana was a spoilt, arrogant little brat who truly believed that the world didn't revolve around the sun, but instead that the sun, moon and stars all revolved around her, and the rest of the world was just too stupid to understand that.

So Vivienne had given the girl a firm wake-up call by casting a powerful spell that caused the king to forget that he'd ever had a living child and made everyone else believe that the princess was a newly-hired scullery maid.  
Previously unaccustomed to actually doing anything for herself, Luciana was now forced to do the most lowly and disgusting of tasks - washing dishes, scrubbing floors, emptying out chamberpots, etc, etc...

Hearing footsteps in the chapel, Vivienne knew she had to work fast.  
She had allowed the girl to remain dead for so long, even though she knew it was against the Fates' original design, in order to test the prince one last time.  
Cruel?  
Probably.  
But she needed to know for certain whether the prince's love for the girl was genuine, or just born out of convenience.  
And so, she cast a mild invisibility spell on herself just as the door opened, then moved backwards into the farthest corner of the room where she could watch and observe.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty-Six...


	46. Lost And Gone

Chapter Forty-Six: Lost And Gone...

Erik fell to his knees before his love's casket with a strangled sob.  
"Oh, _Mon Coeur!"_ he wept, gently lifting the redhead's limp hand to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to each of her icy fingers.  
"Forgive your wretched Erik! He should have protected you better! It should be him lying dead now! Not you... Never you..."  
Erik's body shook with the force of his sobs as he hunched over the casket, weeping inconsolably into Christine's hair.

Suddenly, he felt something inside one of the pockets of his cloak.  
Taking it out, he was surprised to see a familiar vial.  
He had often thought of just giving up and ending it all during the years after the curse, and had even taken to carrying a small vial of poison on him at all times, but was never able bring himself to actually drink it.  
Now, though...

Erik glanced down at the vial, then at Christine's lifeless body, then back down at the vial.  
Then, his decision made, he uncorked the vial and swiftly raised it to his lips before he could change his mind.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty-Seven...


	47. Amor Vincit Omnia

Chapter Forty-Seven: Amor Vincit Omnia

Vivienne had seen enough.  
She released the spell, startling Erik so that he dropped the deadly vial.  
The prince bolted upright, moving protectively in front of the casket.

"What are you doing here, witch?" he hissed menacingly, eyes burning with a protective fury.  
The Enchantress just laughed softly, her voice light and silvery, like the tinkling of bells.  
"Calm yourself, dear prince!" she chided lightly.  
"I am not here to harm you or your beloved."

At the mention of Christine, Erik's eyes grew dark with sorrow as he turned slightly, glancing down at the body of the redhead.  
 _"Mon Coeur..."_ he whispered, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb.  
A single tear made its way out of the corner of his eye, trickling down his cheek.

Turning back around to face the Enchantresss, his jaw clenched.  
"Why have you come, then?" he bit out, barely managing to keep himself under control.  
In front of him was the cause of all of his suffering, the reason for his _ange's_ death!  
This... all of this... everything was her fault!

"I have come, Your Grace, to give you your final test!" the Enchantress replied firmly.  
Erik's heart clenched with fear, well remembering the last _test_ she had given him.  
But before he could do or say anything, she continued.  
"I have come seeking proof of your love for the girl."  
Erik opened his mouth, offended, but she was once again interrupted.  
"And I am satisfied. As such, you have earned a gift."

She waved a hand toward the casket and it vanished, Christine floating past Erik, who reached for her, panicked, toward the Enchantress.  
Resting one hand upon the girl's breastbone and the other on her forehead, Vivienne chanted a long string of words in a strange, lilting tongue that Erik didn't recognize.  
When she had finished, she took a single, short-stemmed green rose from her pocket and placed it directly over the redhead's still heart.

Erik watched in stunned disbelief as a golden mist emitted from her fingers and enveloped the rose, causing it to sparkle faintly as it slowly sank inside Christine's body.  
Almost immediately, the redhead's pale cheeks gained color, returning to their normal healthy pink, and her chest began to rise and fall steadily.  
Barely able to comprehend what he was seeing, Erik reached out his arms as the Enchantress sent his love floating back toward him and grasped hold of the redhead, clutching her tightly, desperately, to his chest, vowing never again to let her leave his arms.

Half-convinced that this was all just a dream, he touched her cheek, stunned to feel the warmth of life after almost a week of her being dead.  
Placing two fingers under her nose, he felt the gentle puffs of air as she inhaled and exhaled rhythmically.  
Carefully setting the redhead down on a beautifully-carved fainting couch which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, Erik suddenly found himself swaying heavily.  
Then, everything went black.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty-Eight...


	48. Awakening

Chapter Forty-Eight: Awakening

Christine's eyes snapped open as she jolted painfully back into the land of the living, the memories flooding rapidly through her mind.  
Raoul! The roof! Erik!  
Where was Erik?

Biting back a cry at the searing pain in her side, the redhead forced herself up into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed.  
Almost immediately upon standing, a crushing wave of dizziness assaulted her and forced her back to the bed with a weak groan.  
The door opened and a tall, dark-haired man entered, holding a steaming cup of tea.  
Christine shrank back against the bedframe, fearful of the unexpected intruder, when he suddenly turned to face her and she gasped in disbelief as a pair of striking emerald-green irises met her own sky-blue ones.

Upon seeing Christine awake, the cup fell from Erik's nerveless hand and shattered on the floor, his eyes widening in shock.  
He took one hesitant step forward, then another.  
Before he knew it, he was at her side, touching her cheek tentatively with wide eyes.  
"Christine?" he rasped disbelievingly.

The redhead frowned thoughtfully, eyes narrowing slightly.  
That voice... those eyes...  
No, it couldn't be... could it?

"Who are you?" she asked, wanting confirmation of her theory.  
The man looked pained.  
 _"Mon Coeur,_ don't you recognize me?" he begged desperately.

Christine's eyes widened in disbelief.  
"What did you just call me?" she whispered faintly.  
Only one person had ever called her by that name.  
And even if it had only happened just the once, she was NOT likely to ever forget that particular moment!  
Could it be?

"Erik?" she choked out, hardly daring to hope.  
Instantly, the man in front of her seemed to crumble, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her tightly to his chest with a strangled sob.  
"Oh, God!" Erik - for Christine was now convinced that it was him - moaned weakly, clutching the redhead desperately to his chest as his tears dripped into her shoulder.  
"Christine... my Christine..."  
The 21 year old wrapped her own arms around him as tightly as she could, her own tears falling down her cheeks.  
And so they remained for the next few hours, neither willing to be parted from the other.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Forty-Nine...


	49. One Love, One Lifetime

Chapter Forty-Nine: One Love, One Lifetime

It had been two weeks since the Enchantress had brought Christine back to life, and Erik had finally deemed the redhead sufficiently recovered.  
To celebrate, a ball was being thrown in her honor.  
Christine hadn't thought it possible to be so happy.  
But she was.  
Deliriously, wonderfully, blissfully happy.

Gliding across the ballroom in Erik's arms, the redhead smiled as they passed faces now so familiar to her.  
She saw her father, free and healthy, and remembered with a slight pang of guilt, the moment a few days prior when he had practically rushed to her bedside upon learning she was alive again, and collapsed upon her, weeping uncontrollably and making her swear not to risk her life so foolishly again.  
Christine had rolled her eyes, but acquiesced to spare him any unnecessary stress.

She giggled slightly, catching sight of André and Fleurette locked in a heated kiss nearby.  
Following her line of sight, Erik snorted in amusement.  
Firmin, however, didn't seem to be quite as amused, and was clearly heard muttering, "Not again!" as he strode over in a huff.

She saw Elisabeth and two other girls, wedged between their mother and father, the youngest child pretending to be annoyed, but clearly loving the attention.  
La Esmeralda was also there, waltzing happily with her maestro.  
 _'This,'_ the redhead thought to herself as she gazed around the room, _'is my family.'_

She lifted her head and her eyes met Erik's startling green orbs.  
He smiled down at her and she felt the now familiar warmth of love shoot through her entire body, starting at her toes and traveling to the tips of her ears.  
Over the past two weeks, she had found herself loving the Prince more and more with each passing day as she watched him embrace the life that had been denied him for so long.

"Marry me..." he murmured huskily in her ear, and all Christine could do in response was kiss him, the rest of the world fading away until it felt as if it were just the two of them caught up in a tale as old as time, a tale that would undoubtedly be lifelong.  
A tale that had begun once upon a time and would end, the redhead knew, happily ever after.

A/N: Please review to unlock Chapter Fifty...


	50. Epilogue

Chapter Fifty: Epilogue

Christine laughed joyfully as she chased her two year old twins, Gustave and Isabelle around the palace gardens.  
When they had found out she was with child - and expecting twins, no less! - the staff had been overjoyed.  
Erik, of course, had panicked, but she had eventually managed to convince him that he was not going to lose her.

Still, that didn't stop him from hovering just outside the door of their shared bedchamber when it came time for the birth.  
Thankfully, though, the birth came relatively quickly, with very few complications.

Christine stopped to breathe, leaning against a tree.  
Touching the slight swell of her stomach, she sighed contentedly, and turned around as she heard familiar footsteps.  
Looking up into her husband's eyes, she smiled and leaned up to kiss him, unknowing of the invisible cloaked figure that was watching them with a look of immense satisfaction - and a hint of pride - in her violet eyes.

 _'Yes,'_ Christine thought to herself as she pulled away reluctantly, listening to the shrieks of her children.  
 _'All is as it should be.'_

And it was.  
It truly was.

 **A Message From The Authoress: Winter turns to spring, famine turns to feast...**  
 **Nature points the way, nothing left to say...  
Au revoir... and merci...**

 _ **The End.**_


End file.
